


How to tame a small mafia man

by un_petit_peu_de_moi



Series: It's always sunny in Uranus [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Attempted Rape, Humor, M/M, Sexual Content, Violence, age-gap, background prostitution, background terfinha, the bad guys have morals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 66,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7477287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/un_petit_peu_de_moi/pseuds/un_petit_peu_de_moi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neymar wasn't having a good week. His favorite show had been cancelled, he'd lost his favorite snapback, he had a lifetime debt towards the mafia that they were intent on him repaying, he was made to work as a barman in a brothel whose name he didn't dare say out loud, and he had met too many damn gangsters that were intent on <em>smiling</em> at him.</p><p>Also, there was a zit on his nose that he was becoming really concerned about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. don't insult him

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. So, I have a dozen fic to catch up on and I'm going on a trip in a few hours, but when inspiration strikes you don't push it away.  
> This story revolves around Neymar and the mafia, and will thus features some dark themes - please beware the warnings. I'll try to warn every chapters for really dark things or explicit smut, but I might forget things since with this kind of story, violence is a given. That said, as you can see from the summary, this is definitely not a dark story. It centers more around the brothel than the mafia and you'll encounter many lively characters.  
> Leo doesn't feature a lot in this chapter as I need to start setting places and people. I also plane to write two secondary pairings - Marcos Rojo/Kun and Ter Stegen/Rafinha. There's going to be lots of people and I'm really excited about writing it. I actually plane on making it a series once I'm done so I can focus on other events or people.
> 
> Anyway, all of that said, I hope you'll enjoy this first chapter ! It's probably going to be the most sinister of the lots.

Neymar had known. He’d _known_ from the start it would end badly, yet what was he supposed to do? He had only one sister, and he loved her dearly. It had already been a struggle for his parents to send him to uni, there was no way they could have afforded to pay for an expensive college in London. But his parents were willing to endure a lifetime debt for her, and Neymar couldn’t have let that happen. His sister deserved to follow her dreams, no matter how expensive these dreams were, but his parents also deserved better than to work their whole life the shitty jobs they had.

 

Really, at the time, he didn’t have any other choice, but he knew it would come back to bite him in the ass. He’d given them everything he had over the course of the last three months and now that he had nothing left and hadn’t given them anything in weeks, he knew what coming for him.

 

He knew, but it still took him by surprise to be lifted off the street and into a van at 2 am on a Saturday as he exited a night club.

 

 _Don’t fuck with the mafia._ Everyone knew that. And yet here he was, being escorted by two men in black suits down a gigantic corridor where other men in black suits were lined and busy looking threatening. He was led all the way to an office, and sitting behind a  mahogany desk was a bald man in a more expensive looking suit: Javier Mascherano. _El Jefecito_.

 

Neymar felt fear well up in his stomach. He knew he’d borrowed a pretty big amount and that he’d failed to pay it back, but to take him to the big boss immediately, that was a bit extra. Really, a letter would have been enough for him to shit his pants, no need to go that far.

 

There were several other men in this room – his two escorts on his sides, a tall bearded guy next to Mascherano, and to his left, his back to him as he was sitting on a couch was someone – a kid probably – playing video games like all was well in the world. Neymar almost felt bad for the poor kid, having to grow up and get used to such an environment.

 

“Neymar Da Silva Santos,” Mascherano said, glancing at a paper on his desk before adding, “Junior.”

 

Neymar nodded, trying his best not to shake. Any other context and the way Mascherano had said his name would have been rad as hell. But as it was, Neymar was two seconds away from passing out.

 

“Do you know how much you owe me?”

 

Neymar tried to look at anything but the dangerous bald man before him. His ears were buzzing with white noise because of fear. He nodded.

 

“I asked a question,” Mascherano repeated calmly.

 

“Yes,” he answered shakily.

 

“And do you know how little of that amount you’ve given back?”

 

Neymar couldn’t help nodding but he forced himself to say, “Yes.”

 

“All we ask is for you to pay parts of your debt every week. How many weeks has it been since you last gave us anything?”

 

Neymar’s throat felt dry as the desert. “Four.”

 

“Did you think we wouldn’t notice? Do you think we’re _dumb_?”

 

“Of course not I-,” Neymar had to swallow a few times to get the words out. “I gave you all the money I had from my summer jobs, and because I’m in college it’s hard finding a job with hours that fit my schedule and--”

 

Mascherano lifted his hand and Neymar immediately shut up.

 

“I need the money,” he said simply, brushing aside Neymar’s explanation, just like that.

 

“I don’t-” Neymar was shaking like a leaf, two bald men away from crying like a baby. “I don’t have it.”

 

“How unfortunate.” Mascherano said, sitting back in his chair. “You know what the good thing about loans is? The steady, regular income. I’m your bank, and every month I expect you to pay back what you owe me.”

 

Neymar nodded again. “Yes.”

 

“So.”

 

“As soon as I find a job-”

 

“Not good enough. I need to know money will be coming in by next week.”

 

“I can’t--”

 

“Find a way.”

 

Neymar shut his eyes, trying to will this-- _moment_ away.  He had no way, absolutely no way--

 

His ears were still filled with white noise and he barely understood it when one of his escorts spoke up.

 

“He got a good face, he could work in a brothel.”

 

“What?”

 

The declaration was followed by hums of approval and Mascherano looked at him pointedly. “He has a point.”

 

“I don’t-- I don’t want to.” All the blood drained from his face and he started shaking so hard he had to wound his hands in his jeans to keep them from going wild.

 

“You’d make a lot of money pretty fast,” Mascherano pointed out.

 

“I don’t, please I-”

 

Mascherano frowned. “Calm down will you?”

 

Neymar blinked back unshed tears, wiling himself to calm down. Now was not the time to disobey his lenders.

 

“Look, I want 1000 € on my desk by this time next week. And if you can’t find a way to get that money,” Mascherano paused, leaning forward and smiling, like a wolf, all white teeth and preying eyes, “we’ll find a way for you.”

 

Neymar wound his hands tighter into his jeans, relief and fear mixing and making him dizzy. He had no idea how he could find this much money in so little time, but anything was better than being made a whore.

 

“Yes, thank you, sir.”

 

Mascherano snorted at the word _sir_ , and Neymar was pretty sure the tall bearded guy by his side had snickered.

 

“You have-” Mascherano’s lips kept moving but Neymar got distracted by a loud noise coming from the TV, making him flinch as his brain supplied to him that _THERE’S A BOMB WE’RE BEING KILLED_ _TIME TO PEE YOURSELF_ , when really, it appeared the kid was simply playing a rather violent war game. Was he even of age for these?

 

“I’m sorry, what?” Neymar asked, shaking out of his thoughts as he realized Mascherano was looking at him expectantly.

 

Mascherano rose an eyebrow. “Are you deaf or dumb?”

 

Neymar flinched. “No I, I couldn’t hear you because of the game your son is playing-”

 

“My _son_?” Mascherano cut in, seemingly taken aback.

 

Neymar frowned. “Yeah your--” he glanced at the couch, where the body was now still and the character on the TV had stopped running. The kid seemed to be listening to the conversation after all. Had he been listening from the start? “Your nephew?” he tried instead.

 

 _El Jefecito_ blinked once, twice, and then a wide grin spread over his face, teeth  sharp like a shark, and a loud, booming laughter erupted from the bearded man at his side. Even his two escorts started laughing wholeheartedly, and for a moment Neymar fancied he was in a bar surrounded by very drunk but otherwise non-threatening sailors.

 

Bearded man spoke through his laughter. “Leo, you hear that? Isn’t it past your bed time honey?”

 

Neymar glanced from the figures of the guffawing man to that of the kid on the couch. The kidgot up slowly, appearing to actually be a teenager of short stature dressed in sweats and shorts. And as the boy turned around, Neymar quickly realized his mistake. For the boy was in fact a man – not a tall one, but a man indeed, who was staring at him with the darkest eyes he’d ever seen.

 

“Oh shit,” Neymar cursed. “Sorry I thought--”

 

The man glared daggers at him, but before Neymar could apologize again, Mascherano spoke up.

 

“You know what, I’ll actually help you.”

 

Neymar looked back at him immediately.

 

“Geri, don’t we have something for the boy?”

 

The bearded-man spoke, a wide grin on his face. “We still need a guy at Uranus, last one ran away on Monday.”

 

“Hmm,” Mascherano considered him for a few seconds before nodding. “Alright then.” He nodded to his two escorts. “Take him back and give him the address,” and then back to him, “you’re lucky boy, you’re gonna work for me.”

 

Neymar’s eyes widened. “I’m going-- to be a gangster?”

 

Mascherano gave a short laugh at that. “You? We don’t let _anyone_ in.”

 

Neymar felt slightly insulted.

 

“We got a job for you. You work for us for free and we take that as payment. How about that?”

 

Neymar nodded, relief washing over him. “Thank you so much.”

 

“Don’t be so relieved,” a soft voice spoke, low yet everyone heard it and no one thought to ignore it. It came from the man he’d mistaken for a child. “It only works if you don’t fuck it up and quit.” The man looked him up and down and Neymar had a feeling he hadn’t really taken kindly to being called a kid.

 

“Come on now Leo,” bearded man intervened. “Don’t be so sour. Should I tuck you into bed?”

 

The man, Leo, glared and stomped out of the room without a word.

 

Neymar looked back just in time to see a tender smile on Mascherano’s face as he watched Leo’s exit. It disappeared as soon as he noticed him looking.

 

“Well leave then. We’ll give you the address, be there tomorrow at 7.”

 

And then the two guys at his sides manhandled him into turning around and he was escorted back to where he’d been kidnapped. The men in black were gone like they’d never been there, leaving only a small paper in his hand with an address on it **.**

 

Neymar tried to stay positive: at least he’d manage _not_ to pee his pants.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar had been frozen in place for several minutes now. Looking at the place where he was meant to work, it was indubitable that it was a _brothel_. A fancy, well-lit, cosy brothel, but a brothel nonetheless, the flashy red _It’s always sunny in Uranus_ leaving no doubt to his imagination.

 

They’d said he wouldn’t have to. They’d said he wouldn’t have to, fuck, no way he was going into _there_ , no fucking way, he wasn’t even _shaved_ for fuck’s sake.

 

He turned around, intent on running the fuck away, but he immediately bumped into a firm chest and looked up to see a tall man staring him down. The man smiled.

 

“You must be Neymar. Running away already?”

 

“I-”

 

The man smiled wider. “Don’t chicken out so early; I bet Pocho you’d make it at least three days.”

 

“What?”

 

The man didn’t answer, stirring him towards that dreadful whorehouse, and Neymar feelt sicker and sicker with each new steps.

 

Inside, the place was nothing like he’d expected. It was as fancy as the outside – a big bar on the left with several stools, tables and boots and a dozen half-naked girls and boys chatting together. At the end of the large room were two marble stairs, leading to two lengthy corridors lined with numerous doors.

 

“I can’t,” he stuttered, taking a step back. “I don’t want to be a whore, ple-”

 

“A whore? You’re not going to be a whore, chill man. You don’t even look legal.”

 

“I’m 20,” Neymar answered on instinct.

 

“My bad then, a whore it is.”

 

“No wait I’m not legal it was a lie-”

 

The man laughed, indifferent to how fearful Neymar was.

 

“Come on don’t be a pussy. That’s where you’re going to work,” the man said, pointing to their left. Neymar followed his finger to the big bar he’d noticed before.

 

“I’m going to be a barman?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Thank god.” Neymar’s shoulders sagged in relief.

 

“Alright so.” Neymar had to take quick steps to follow the tall man as he showed him around the bar. “Here are the drinks, here are snacks, here’s a list of drinks – you better learn it. Here are the glasses, and here are the cleaning stuff. You’re expected to make and serve drinks, clean the tables and clean your workplace. You receive the money, it goes in there, and if you think about stealing, look into the freezer and you’ll find the hands of guys who tried it before-”

 

“Holy sh-- isn’t that unsanitary?” He asked, eyes wide with shock and fear.

 

The man finally turned around. “Learn to take a joke man.”

 

“How am I supposed to know you’re joking?”

 

The man shrugged. “This would be unsanitary. This is a _reputable_ institution.”

 

Neymar squinted, felling doubtful. Still, this was somehow much better than all the scenarios he’d came up with during the night.

 

He looked around, and it was a lot to take in at once, but he _could_ do  it. He’d been a waiter before and had slipped behind the bar on a few times. This, this wasn’t out of his comfort zone.

 

“How long do I have to work here?”

 

“To repay your debt?” The man snorted, “If I told you you’d either run away or kill yourself.”

 

Cool. That sure was reassuring. Neymar comforted himself with the thought that his sister would graduate from the college she loved, and he wouldn’t be killed in mysterious and terrible circumstances.

 

A hand clapped his back, and the threatening smile was back on the man’s face.

 

“I’m Marcos Rojo, and if you have any questions, don’t call my name because I got better things to do. We open in 30 so you better hurry up.”

 

And then the man, Marcos, was gone, leaving Neymar alone behind the bar. Neymar got to work, busying himself with looking at the cocktails they served so he didn’t have the opportunity to freak out.

 

 

–

 

 

Overall, it had been not _that_ bad a night. Neymar had spilled a few drinks, fucked up some cocktails, stuttered a few times and been propositioned by a prostitute thrice, flirted with by customers too many times to keep track of, but he hadn’t been mugged so there was that.

 

When he was finally back to his dorm 10 hours later, he fell face first on his bed without undressing. The place had closed at 5 am and Neymar had spent almost an hour cleaning the tables and the bar afterward. He was completely exhausted and had classes in 3 hours but he was _alive_.

 

If he missed classes, Rafinha would bitch at him but he’d give him his notes. Probably.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar took back everything he’d said about the job being easy. It was _hell_. Monday was a much busy night, there were people _everywhere_. He’d been on edge every minute of his 9 hours shift, flinching every time a fight had erupted between customers, which was all the time, flinching every time someone had given him an order, flinching also when Marcos popped up out of nowhere just to smile and whisper _I’m watching you_ , clearly enjoying scaring the shit out of him. There had also been wandering hands as he’d served drinks, and Neymar had to bite the inside of his cheeks not to blow at the guy’s face and insult his whole family line up to his grand grand grand grand mother. He figured telling the guy he was a son of a bitch in such a place would have been pretty ironic anyway.

 

Not to mention, the job was exhausting and he’d missed Tuesday’s morning classes, again. At least, it turned out Tuesday night was significantly less busy than Monday.

 

“Hey honey,” a voice drawled right next to him and Neymar looked up from where he was washing a few glasses. The man had an obscene smile on his face, and he was wearing nothing but tight boxer briefs. “You must be the new guy,” he said, and by now Neymar was pretty sure this was one of the whore here.

 

He nodded. “May I give you a drink?”

 

The man leered. “I’m not thirsty right now but I could drink champagne from your _flute_ if you want.”

 

It surprised Neymar enough that he dropped a glass in the sink and splashed his shirt with dirty water. He cursed, then had the mind to summon a grimace and say he was not interested.

 

The man hummed. “You do look like a _catcher_ , but better safe than sorry. I swing both ways though darling, and I could take you for the best ride of your life.”

 

Neymar stared at the man with wide eyes, somehow offended (how could he _know_ ), but mostly confused and embarrassed.

 

Then the man laughed and leaned back. “Alright alright boy, you’re not interested. Well, that’s a loss for the both of us – you should be working on the other side of that bar, you’d make tons of money, trust me.”

 

“You think?” Neymar asked, feeling flattered for a moment. He caught himself and cleared his throat, resuming washing the dishes. “I’d rather not,” he mumbled.

 

The man shrugged. “Your loss. I gotta work but if you need anything, tell me honey. I’m Lavezzi, but everyone calls me Pocho.”

 

And then the man, Pocho, held out his hand for a handshake. When Neymar warily grabbed it, Pocho bent down and _kissed his hand_ before sashaying away.

 

For a second there, Neymar felt his cheeks warm up, before he caught himself and feigned the appropriate feeling, which was being weirded the fuck out.

 

Hell, this place was _hell_.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar had been working here four days and he had yet to visit the whole place. He didn’t think he’d have to but now that he’d been asked to deliver a drink upstairs, he had wished someone had showed him around beforehand, because he was now completely lost. This place was way bigger than he’d expected, and he didn’t dare count the number of rooms there were.

 

All he knew was the _noise_. It felt like he’d put on a dozen porn movies at the same time at top volume.

 

He wandered the corridors, wishing to find his way back to the bar, or to at least meet a prostitute that wasn’t busy being… busy. He was turning a corner when he heard loud screams that sounded more like anger than pleasure.

 

“You let me go you filthy _pig,_ ” he heard rather distinctly, coming from a door on his right.

 

He could hear what sounded like a fight, struggling, and a woman insulting a man. His heart beat wild and anger surged in his veins because there was a man in there about to take advantage of a whore, and this was so disgusting, Neymar couldn’t let that happen--

 

Yet his hand froze on the doorknob because, what if? Was he allowed to do that? The mafia got money from this shady business. They probably had a _‘customer is king’_ policy going on. This place was nothing pretty, nothing like Pocho’s seductive smiles. Those girls and those boys, they were at Mascherano’s mercy, and he wondered how many had been coerced into being there.

 

Another scream erupted from the room and Neymar had to close his eyes. Fuck. If he went in there and intervened, he might lose his job, he might get killed, he might be forced into working here just like that woman was. It could backfire _so bad_.

 

“Help!” echoed and Neymar opened the door without thinking about it. Fuck it.

 

The two figures in the room turned towards him, a man with his pants loose around his ankles and his hard dick dangling, and a woman half-naked, pinned on the bed and struggling.

 

Neymar stalked forward, pushing the guy away from the girl and putting himself between the bed and the _pig_ , allowing the girl to run away.

 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Neymar growled, his mind telling him _‘this guy is twi_ _c_ _e your size’_ and his body answering _‘yes but do we really care?’_

 

The man looked shocked for a moment then grabbed his shirt, his naked dick pressing against its fabric. _Ew_.

 

“What are _you_ doing boy? I paid for that whore and I can do whatever I want to her.”

 

“ _Filho da puta_. ” Neymar mimicked the man’s position and pressed forward. “Fucking try me.”

 

The pig showed his teeth like an animal, red in the face and ugly in the eyes. Neymar readied himself for a punch, but before either of them could do any harm, a blade came out of nowhere and slide against the pig’s throat. The both of them froze in their tracks.

 

“That the guy?” A voice came to his left and suddenly Neymar realized Marcos was there, pressing a sword under the man’s throat, the whore right behind him.

 

“Yeah it is!” the girl said, pouting, looking more angry than shaken. “He tried to take more than he paid for!”

 

The slightest press of the blade against the skin and the man took several steps back.

 

“A bit rude of you, was it?” Marcos said, leveling him with a scaryly non-threatening stare.

 

“I--”

 

“Did you mother never teach you how to treat a lady?”

 

“I’m sorry-”

 

“Are you?” Marcos lowered his blade and the man visibly breathed out in relief.

 

“Thank-”

 

Marcos cut him off by throwing a knife at his feet.

 

“If you’re really sorry, cut off your right ball.”

 

“The left,” the girl supplied.

 

“The left,” Marcos amended.

 

“What?” the man blanched, his previously red face becoming white in the matter of seconds.

 

“It’s the proper way to apologize,” Marcos said matter-of-factly.

 

“No way-- Please I, I, please-”

 

“Bummer,” Marcos said, completely dropping his sword and putting it back in its sheath.

 

The girl sauntered to the frozen pig, pushing him just a tad so he’d step out of his pants. She picked them up and went back to Marcos’s side, searching the pockets until she found a wallet.

 

“What are you-” the pig started, but was cut off by Marcos’s stare.

 

“Hm, you’re still there? Go away.”

 

“You have my pants-”

 

“And so?”

 

“I can’t go out like that-”

 

“If you don’t want people to see your dick I can cut it off for you,” Marcos offered, and just with that the man was off, fat red ass bouncing as he ran away, and Neymar heard hoots and laughter down the hall.

 

He waited there, shell-shocked for a few seconds as Marcos and the girl searched the man’s wallet and lamented on how little they found.

 

“Hey honey,” the girl said, walking to him. She was still half-naked so Neymar flushed and politely looked at the ceiling. The girl giggled. “Oh don’t be shy, not with me.”

 

She put a hand on his cheek and rose on her tip-toes to press a delicate kiss on his mouth. “Thank you,” she said with a smile.

 

Neymar nodded, embarrassed.

 

This was all so confusing. He’d been pretty sure he’d be killed for helping the girl, yet Marcos, a _mafioso_ , had done exactly that andfrom the way they both acted, this didn’t seem to be a rare or an uncommon occurrence.

 

“Marcos,” the girl said. “Give the boy a new shirt, his is all dirty now.”

 

Neymar looked down, and indeed there was a small wet spot on his shirt, where the man’s dick had pressed. He grimaced.

 

Marcos put a hand on his nape and started leading him away. “Come on man, we’ll give you a brand new shirt and burn this one.”

 

Marcos took him back behind his bar and went to get a spare shirt somewhere. Neymar wasted no time putting it on, and looked at his old shirt with regret as Marcos threw it in the trash.

 

“So,” Marcos said, leaning against the counter. “You know the guy would have definitely beaten you right?”

 

“He wouldn’t have. I have moves,” Neymar answered, even though he didn’t.

 

Marcos smiled – an actual smile for once.

 

“You’re not too bad after all,” he said making himself comfortable on one of the stools. “Come on, gimme a drink and I’ll answer the questions you’re dying to ask.”

 

Neymar blinked at the sudden change in behavior but he did as he was told, giving Marcos a _mojito_ that he took a delighted sip from.

 

“I thought...” Neymar hesitated. “I thought customers could do whatever they wanted as long they paid for it.”

 

Marcos huffed. “Only if the workers agree.”

 

Neymar frowned. That wasn’t un-confusing in the slightest.

 

“Do you know what my job here is?” Marcos asked.

 

“Scaring me?”

 

Marcos laughed. “Anyone could scare you, no need to pay someone to do it.”

 

Neymar glared **,** then found himself being surprised at how easy it suddenly was, how Marcos was openly teasing him when an hour ago he’d sent him an _‘I SEE YOU’_ text when he was in the restroom. It had scared him so much his dick had refused to pee for a good five minutes.

 

“My job here,” Marcos resumed, “is security. Breaking up fights, making sure everything goes smoothly and, mostly, _protecting_ the workers.”

 

“Protecting… So what, the _mafia_ pays you to make sure _whores_ are safe?”

 

“Yep,” Marcos nodded.

 

“That’s-- no way?!”

 

“Money,” Marcos said. “You’d be surprised how much more profitable a brothel is if you make sure everyone’s safe. Prostitutes come to this place willingly because they know they’ll get protected. We’re actually over-packed right now. And if a guy tries something funny, we take his belongings, so that’s a bonus too.” Marcos shrugged. “And then there’s also the bar. _That_ is also profit.”

 

In a weird way, this made sense. Still, Neymar couldn’t help finding it strange that they’d threaten customers with weapons to protect a prostitute. Was the profit _that_ significant that they were willing to lose customers?

 

“Anyway, getting rid of nuisances is my job. There are two of us usually but my colleague is sick right now so it’s just me.” He waited a few seconds before leaning over the counter. “Good job by the way. Other guys before you didn’t move a finger.” He searched in his pocket and took out a sweet. “Here, reward for you.”

 

Neymar looked at the sweet then back at Marcos’s face. “I’m not a dog,” he protested.

 

He took the sweet anyway.

 

 

–

 

 

Life was, unsurprisingly, much better with Marcos on his side. Marcos had taken to hanging out at the counter, chatting up with him and actually entertaining Neymar. It turned out Marcos could actually be a funny dude, when he wasn’t actively trying to scare him.

 

Somehow, it felt like the whole place was open to him now, including the workers. More of them greeted him and chatted at his bar, sometimes offering to serve drinks for him. Words got fast around here apparently, and everyone had gotten wind of his little stunt the other day.

 

The girl from the other day had came to him and offered him a brand new shirt, introducing herself as Karina. She stayed with him a few minutes, asking about uni and telling him she had a little boy back home and that he was welcome to say hi anytime. It was _sweet_. He’d heard so many bad things about prostitutes, yet all of them were kind to him and welcomed him easily once he’d proved not to be an asshole.

 

Neymar wondered whether it was possible to feel like he belonged in a place like this.

 

 

–

 

 

On Saturday, Marcos caught him before he could take off his coat.

 

“Come on we’re going to the headquarters.”

 

“Uh? Why?”

 

Marcos handed him a bag and a notebook. “Taking the week’s profit to the boss. This,” he said, pointing to the bag, “is the money and this,” he pointed to the notebook, “is something much more valuable than money. You better not lose it on the way.”

 

“More valuable than money?” Neymar was puzzled. He peered at the notebook’s plain cover curiously. “What is it?”

 

Marcos leaned down and whispered secretly, “ _Information_.”

 

Most likely on purpose, Marcos didn’t elaborate immediately and left him to guess until they were both walking down the streets to the headquarters.

 

“Information is vital if you want to stay on the top. And you’d be surprised how chatty people get when you rub them the right way,” he joked. “Money, we can get it back any time, but information can only belongs to one person. So, if anything happens on the way, you let go of the bag and you keep that notebook very close to yourself. Got it?”

 

Neymar nodded. “Shouldn’t the transfer be trusted upon, uh, trusted people?” he asked, Marcos’s words setting him on edge. Were they going to get mugged? He hadn’t eaten dinner yet, he might fall over at the first punch.

 

“That’s why I’m here. Taking gorillas would draw too much attention, and most people know not to fuck with Mascherano anyway.”

 

Neymar wasn’t very convinced. He slipped the notebook in his pants, right against his underwear, earning a laugh from Marcos. He thought back to the conversation they’d had about the brothel earlier this week.

 

“So that’s another reason why he keeps that place safe is it? Because if he’s on good terms with the prostitutes, they’ll give him intel.”

 

“Yep,” Marcos nodded. “Intel alone is worth the cost of that place, all profit aside.”

 

Of course nothing would matter more to the mafia than money and influence. And here for a moment, he’d fancied that _maybe_ , they had moral values.

 

“Don’t be silly, it’s the mafia we’re talking about.”

 

Neymar’s head snapped to Marcos’s face. “Can you read minds?”

 

“Yes,” and then, “you mumbled that out loud you idiot.”

 

Neymar grumbled. “Well don’t _you_ have moral values though?And you’re in the mafia.”

 

“I have parents,” Marcos answered, looking offended. “And I’m not in the mafia, duh. I’ve just been hired to do security at Uranus.”

 

“And still they trust you with the money?” Neymar asked, puzzled.

 

“I’ve been here for four years. Actually I _could_ join their ranks, but one of their  dudes hate my guts so.”

 

That sounded like a story for another time. Of course, the mafia wouldn’t otherwise care for mere _whores_. Mascherano had threatened to make Neymar a prostitute after all, so they clearly weren’t above coercion if money was at stakes.

 

“But...” Marcos interrupted his musings. “Some people say there might be more to it than money. Talks in the street, words in the corridors you know. Rumors. Some say Mascherano actually-”

 

Marcos was cut off by a loud booming voice coming from behind them, making Neymar jump.

 

“Hey there Marcos, spreading rumors so early in the evening?”

 

Neymar looked at the man – tall, taller than Marcos, a beard and two holsters at his side. Neymar knew this guy, he’d seen him in Mascherano’s office before.

 

“What about you, still getting pegged by your wife?” Marcos answered.

 

The two men regarded each other silently, smile frozen on their faces and Neymar wondered for a moment if _this_ was the guy that hated Marcos’s guts. God, he hoped they weren’t going to fight, he really didn’t want to get involved in that.

 

What happened instead is that both their faces broke into even wider grins, and they laughed, greeting each other with a one-armed hug.

 

“Taking the stuff to Mascherano?” bearded guy asked, walking between them.

 

Marcos nodded. “Showing the newbie the ropes.”

 

“Oh I remember your face. Neymar was it? I’m Gerard Pique, though my friends call me Geri.”

 

“Alright. Geri.” Neymar answered hesitantly.

 

“I didn’t say we were friends,” Pique said with a big smile.

 

Neymar blinked and-- “What the hell is wrong with all of you, can you all stop _smiling_?” he whined, messing up his own hair. Smiles were good, threats were not, and he would like it if  those two things stayed separate.

 

Marcos laughed out loud said something about him being a coward. Neymar didn’t really pay attention for the rest of the way, as it focused on things he didn’t understand – names he didn’t recognize, business meetings, rivalries. Boring stuff.

 

He only started paying attention to his surroundings when they reached the headquarters. It was different seeing this big house in the day. It looked more like a mansion. There were several cars lined in front of it, and guards parked at the entry, nodding to Pique in acknowledgment.

 

Pique walked them to a big wooden door, and Neymar was about to tell Marcos he’d wait for him right there when he noticed Marcos wandering off, shouting he needed to take a shit.

 

Neymar was left alone with Pique, who was apparently letting _him_ be the one to open the door.

 

He took a deep breath and knocked briefly before entering the room. Mascherano was leaning on his desk, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons popped open. He looked relaxed and his bald head was shining.

 

“Neymar,” he greeted.

 

“Mister.” Neymar greeted back. “Sir. Señor? Monsieur.”

 

Pique’s big hand briefly clapping his shoulder saved him from embarrassment. “He was with Marcos, they’re bringing the stuff.”

 

Mascherano gestured to him, opening his arms to indicate he was waiting. Neymar hurried to him, handing him the money bag. Mascherano opened it and hummed approvingly.

 

“The notebook?”

 

“The note- ah,” Neymar slipped his hand inside his pants to take it out, and from the look on Mascherano’s face he was less than pleased by his secret hiding place He took the notebook with as little as fingers as he could and used nothing more than the tip of his fingers to glance through it quickly.

 

“Good,” he finally said. He looked back at him. “But I’d appreciate it if you could keep it somewhere else next time,” he said with a meaningful stare. Neymar heard Big Guy Pique snicker behind him.

 

He nodded, and thought to himself that he’d put it wherever he wanted, but it just so happened that he felt like not putting it inside his pants next time.

 

Mascherano dismissed him curtly and Neymar stood in front of the door several seconds in silence. Well. Now he needed to get back to the brothel, and he had no idea where Marcos had fucked off too.

 

He took to his right, where he’d seen him leave. A bad idea that was, and Neymar realized he probably should have stayed where he was and waited for Marcos to come for him, because he was now positively lost. He’d walked so much he now seemed to be in a more homely part of the mansion – there were actual _colors_ on the walls, a cosy kitchen with a dinner room, and items that looked like souvenirs.

 

He heard noise and wandered close to it, until he could see a TV and a man on a couch playing a game. The man looked familiar.Neymar studied his profile – long nose, short black hair, a skin so pale he’d almost look sick. He glanced down lower. The man was wearing shorts, and they’d riled up his thighs and, Neymar had noted, the man possessed muscular thick thighs, something which Neymar could _appreciate_.

 

He meant to leave but bumped in a table and drew the man’s attention to himself. When the two dark eyes settled upon him, Neymar remembered why that man seemed familiar. It was the man he’d mistaken for a kid in Mascherano’s office.

 

He blinked.

 

“Uh,” Neymar tried. “Sorry, I’m kinda lost and--”

 

“Come here,” the man said, voice deep.

 

He handed him a controller, and Neymar took it, silently sitting down besides him. He tried to search his mind to remember the name he was sure he had heard. Thiago? Mateo?

 

“Let’s see if you can beat a kid,” something-o said, and Neymar had to take a moment.

 

“Wait, are you still upset about that because--” Neymar turned towards something-o, and was met with a very sour face.

 

Neymar stared at him, his determined and grumpy expression, the slouch of his shoulders and how he was seemingly still stuck on having been called a kid a week ago.

 

He let out a giggle. Something-o glared.

 

He coughed and bit his lips to keep his laughter in, and focused on the screen as something-o started a game of Mario Kart. Neymar picked Peach, and was pretty sure he heard something-o snort.

 

Neymar won the first round. He smiled wide as Peach drove away in victory, imitating her loud scream. He turned towards his host to see him looking absolutely sinister.

 

“Again,” he ordered.

 

Neymar won the second round.

 

Something-o seemed increasingly annoyed. He grumbled something under his breath, and, “you’re cheating, take another character.”

 

“You think I’m using Peach to cheat?” Neymar asked incredulously.

 

Neymar had to remind himself this guy had a _connection_ to the mafia to keep himself from laughing. He was probably someone’s cousin, or something like that. If he upset him he could get in trouble.

 

“Pick someone else,” something-o repeated, slouching even more in his couch.

 

Neymar almost won the third round too. _Almost_ , for his host turned off the game, threw away his controller and spontaneously flopped down on the couch as Neymar was passing the finishing line.

 

“Wha?” was all he could manage.

 

“I’m taking a nap.”

 

“Now?”

 

No answer.

 

“Holy shit. Dude, dude, you’re the _sorest_ loser I’ve ever seen in my life like _wow_ you-”

 

He got a pillow thrown rather violently into his face.

 

Neymar couldn’t keep it in anymore. He laughed. He threw his head back, letting his laughter ring freely in the room, clapping his hands in delight. _This_ was a grown ass man, if not a gangster then some gangster’s cousin, and he was _pouting_ over a game of Mario Kart. This was absolutely ridiculous and there was no way Neymar could have stopped laughing now.

 

He half-expected the man to choke him with a pillow, but he was laughing too hard to see anything through his slitted eyes.

 

When he managed to calm down, his chest heaving up and down, he found something-o eyes set on him, staring at him curiously.

 

“What?”

 

“Your laugh,” the man said, looking puzzled. “You sound like a whale.”

 

“Hey-”

 

“There you are!”

 

Neymar turned his head just in time to see Marcos enter the room, followed by a man of short stature.

 

“Man, lucky you have such a weird laugh because I’ve been looking for you for 10 minutes,” Marcos complained. “Hey Messi,” he said to the man next to him – _Messi_. Didn’t sound anything like something-o.

 

“Rojo,” Messi nodded. And then, “Where were you Kun, I was _bored_.”

 

“Sorry Leo,” the man behind Marcos answered. “I went to the restroom and who do I see? This fucker. Using _my_ toilet.  The fuck, he got a bathroom at his place too, what is he using ours for? Fuck it I almost sliced his guts open.”

 

The words were violent but Neymar couldn’t help thinking that man didn’t look very scary. His face was round, he was small and had a terrible haircut, and, mostly, Marcos had the biggest grin on his face while that ‘Kun’ boy ranted about him.

 

Marcos snorted. “Oh Agüero, we both know you don’t have what it takes to gut me.”

 

“You want to bet bitch?” Kun slash Agüero said, pressing into Marcos’s personal space which, given their height difference, looked quiet ridiculous.

 

“You’re on shortie, but you know you’re going to lose.”

 

They bumped their foreheads together and Neymar got up to intervene, but a hand caught his sleeve. He looked back at Messi to see him shake his head.

 

“Don’t bother, they’re always like this.”

 

“Uh.” Neymar turned to them, because clearly there was killing intent emanating from that short man with the pony haircut. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

 

He didn’t get any answer, and when he turned back to Messi, the man’s eyes were closed and true to his words he was taking a nap.

 

Neymar looked back at the pair to his right and, trusting Messi’s judgment, he flopped down next to him and cursed the being who decided to make his life a living hell.


	2. don't underestimate him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter warning** : violence
> 
> Hey there. Despite my original wish not to plane this story scenes by scenes, I ended up doing just that, therefore I can tell there will be between 7 and 8 chapters. Anyway, I'm glad so many of you seem interested in this story, because I know it might be a bit particular. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter !

“You’re a bad liar. You’re such a bad liar I can tell you’re lying through the phone.”

 

“I’m not lying,” Neymar protested, although he had indeed been lying to Rafinha for the past two weeks about why he’d started missing half their classes. “I have a _job_. I’m making money.”

 

Rafinha snorted. “Don’t try with me. No one in their right mind would hire you as a _security guard_.”

 

Marcos had told him the other security guy at Uranus would come back today and that he was a merciless beast, and Neymar had had nightmares the whole night. It had been the first thing that popped through his mind when Rafinha had started probing about that supposed job of his, and he now regretted it dearly.

 

“I could be a security guard, I could be a _damn good_ security guard.”

 

Rafinha laughed openly. “You with those two sticks you call arms? Don’t joke around, I’m having a serious conversation.”

 

“You fucker!” Neymar protested. “You’re a fucking loser.”

 

“And you’re a liar. I know you don’t have a job so spit the truth already.”

 

Neymar was getting frustrated. His fingers were cold and he couldn’t shove them in his pockets while he was on the phone. He could see Uranus in the distance and he knew he had to deal with Rafinha quickly before he started his job.

 

“I have a boyfriend.”

 

“A boyfriend?” Rafinha repeated doubtfully, and Neymar could hear the calculated rise of his eyebrow over the phone – the fucker did like looking posh.

 

“Yeah, a boyfriend. It’s a new thing alright? More like a one-night stand, maybe more so like-”

 

“There are no condoms in your drawer.”

 

“What?”

 

“I searched your room,” Rafinha answered flatly. “You always put condoms in your drawer when you have a boyfriend, so either you’re lying, or you’re having unprotected sex, and either way you’re a fucking idiot and I will beat you up.”

 

“I’m not- I-” Neymar stuttered, feeling offended but not having a clue what to say to defend himself and his tainted honor. “You don’t have the right to search my room!”

 

“I have all the rights; I give my notes to your lazy lying ass.”

 

“You suck,” Neymar finally said, giving up on finding a better come back. “You suck and I need better friends.”

 

“Don’t fool yourself, I’m the best you can afford. Now tell me the truth.”

 

Neymar, feeling petulant and nearing the blinking lights of the brothel, answered, “No,” and hung up.

 

It would teach that dirty bastard.

 

–

 

 

When he finally reached the backroom of his bar, Marcos greeted him with champagne.

 

“Holy sh-” was all Neymar could manage before he felt the cold drink pour over his head. He arched his back and stilled his body, a poor protection against the cold liquid that was seeping through his clothes and down his back.

 

“What the fuck was that for?!” he asked, feeling the sweet alcohol over his lips.

 

“Congratulations!”

 

“...uh?”

 

“You’ve made it two weeks there and you’re still _not_ quitting. That’s a record.”

 

“Was that really necessary?” Neymar whined, slowly getting his body to move as he tried to figure out what to do with his clothes. And his _hair_. God his hair was ruined.

 

“Yep,” Marcos nodded. “You don’t get it man. In the last six months, no one stayed here more than two weeks. I’ve been keeping this bottle of champagne in the fridge for so long.”

 

Neymar complained some more and, admitting defeat, took off his nice white shirt and abandoned his naked torso to the cold air of the backroom.

 

He dropped his shirt and immediately wrapped his arms around his shivering self.

 

“I’m dying,” he whined.

 

Marcos shrugged. “You can die if you want, the record still stands.”

 

“Hey!” Neymar shouted indignantly.

 

Marcos grinned his way. “Wait here.” He disappeared then came back with a brand new shirt. It was a long sleeved black shirt. Or, more accurately, it was a black tank top stitched to a long-sleeved hairnet.

 

“You’re kidding.” Neymar said as he took in the piece of clothing. “I can’t wear that.”

 

As it turned out, there was no way around Marcos’s planned prank. Neymar had to resolve himself to wearing a shirt that wasn’t exactly bad – he did look pretty good in it – but, considering where he worked and the amount of customers that flirted with him, Neymar was pretty unhappy about the whole ordeal. He privately decided to forgive Marcos though because he stuck around at his bar which successfully kept people from hitting him up.

 

Still. Publicly he ignored him very hard, for a whole six minutes.

 

“Say, what did you mean, ‘no one in the last six months’? Haven’t you been working here for several years already?”

 

“Yep,” Marcos nodded. “four years.”

 

“Then…?”

 

Marcos took on that look he got when he was about to go around spreading stories. Neymar was starting to think he was actually a huge gossip.

 

“When this place opened, Mascherano had a guy run it – Xavi Hernandez. Small guy, thick eyebrows, loved mushrooms. Was pretty tight about everything but good at what he did. Anyway, the dude had a husband, Andrès Iniesta, who is probably the sweetest man I’ve met. And he ran the bar.”

 

“So… He left six months ago?”

 

Marcos nodded.

 

“Did something happen?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Neymar could only imagine what had happened. Drugs, murders, a trap maybe, maybe they’d been killed and cut into small pieces and sent to their loved ones in boxes.

 

He shivered in fear.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Andrès got the flu.”

 

“...what?”

 

“He stayed in bed for like, three days. Xavi decided they were retiring.”

 

“What?” Neymar repeated. He’d expected something a bit more… exciting. “Just because of that.”

 

Marcos shrugged. “Xavi was a weird one, and he adored Andrès, so. I dunno man, but they retired, and we’ve been searching for a replacement for Andrès ever since. Though I hear the two of them have a farm in the countryside where they make wine and rise cows.”

 

“That… doesn’t sound like a real story.” Neymar frowned. “You’re telling me lies aren’t you?”

 

Marcos only grinned. “Enough talk about the past, let’s focus on the present. I told you the other guy was coming back today, right? Let me introduce you.”

 

Neymar took the change of conversation in strides.

 

“No thanks.” He could only imagine what the _merciless beast_ looked like.

 

Of course, Marcos ignored him. He hailed someone over. “Hey _el Alem_ _á_ _n_ , come here!”

 

Neymar stood still behind his bar. He told himself Marcos would _probably_ defend him. Horrified, he watched as a tall blonde guy came their way. He was beefy and gigantic, and Neymar could already see himself cooked into a sausage for Germans to eat and exclaim _Sehr_ _g_ _ut!_ about.

 

“It’s been a while _hermano,_ ” the newcomer greeted Marcos. He had a warm smile on his face and two white teeth pointed out as his lips stretched. “Sorry for the inconvenience, I’ll make it up to you anytime.”

 

“Nah, don’t bother with that, I told you it’s all fine.”

 

Neymar stared up at the new guy as the two unreasonablytall men next to and over him talked. He felt so small. He wondered if maybe the new giant hadn’t seen him at all. From this angle, apart from his size, _El Alem_ _á_ _n_ didn’t seem bad – his smile was friendly and he gave off a charming _may I help you?_ vibe. Then again, Neymar had recently learned to be wary of smiles.

 

Finally, two blue eyes set on him, and the smile didn’t waver.

 

“And you must be the new employee, are you?”

 

Neymar nodded, mouth shut tight, although he would have liked to point out that to be an employee he’d need to be paid, which he _wasn’t_.

 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Marc-André Ter Stegen.”

 

The big blonde held out his hand, and Neymar took it hesitantly. He expected him to crush his bones but instead the hand was warm and the handshake soft.

 

He felt Marcos nudge his back and remembered to introduce himself.

 

“Ah, shit. I’m Neymar. Neymar,” he repeated, for a second considering telling his full name then deciding against it and cutting himself short and overall just looking like an idiot.

 

Ter Stegen only smiled though. “Nice to meet you Neymar. If you don’t mind me asking, where do you come from? Portugal?”

 

Neymar had the sense to straighten his back. “Brazil,” he announced with pride. “You?”

 

“Germany,” Ter Stegen answered, though Neymar could have guessed that himself. “They call me _El Alem_ _á_ _n_ here.”

 

“Well you’re the only German we know,” Marcos interrupted. “Marc-André is way too long a name anyway. You should get it changed.”

 

This should have been insulting, but Marc-André smiled. “You don’t like it because Marcos and Marc are the same name in different languages.”

 

“ _Touché_.”

 

Ter Stegen laughed and shook his head, then set his eyes back on Neymar, and somehow it made him feel at ease. “Well Neymar, this was a pleasure to meet you. If you need anything, call me and I’ll help you.”

 

Neymar nodded eagerly and watched Ter Stegen’s back as he walked towards a group of boys that were beckoning him over. He observed his tall, imposing frame contradicted by warm, friendly eyes. He gave off the vibe of a _protector_.

 

“How is it that he’s so nice and you’re such an asshole,” he asked Marcos.

 

He got an elbow in his ribs for his efforts.

 

The good news was, this encounter had made him forget the shirt Marcos had made him wear. The bad news was that he now remembered it and to think he’d been introduced to Marc-André _if you need anything call me and I’ll help you_ Ter Stegen, he retrospectively wished a hole had opened and swallowed him whole so he couldn’t embarrass himself any further.

 

 

–

 

 

Rafinha, that _snitch_.

 

It was close to 6 am and Neymar was _finally_ done. He’d looked forward to nothing more than to face-plant on his bed half of the night, and yet when he’d finally looked at his phone at 4 am, he had five missed calls and twelve unread messages from none other than Dani.

 

Dani, his friend Dani, his big bro Dani, his childhood friend Dani, that had protected and helped him so much before he’d moved to Italy for his job. Dani, asking him _what’s wrong lil bro_ and _if you have_ _a problem_ _you can always tell me_ _lil bro_ and _hey lil bro_ and _if anyone’s bothering you I’ll kick their asses_ _lil bro_. As much as Neymar had idealized Dani as superman, he didn’t really think he could take on the mafia, yet he knew full well Dani wouldn’t hesitate to take the first flight to Barcelona to try and do just that.

 

Rafinha had gone and told him he was acting weird, that dirty fucker.

 

He sent Dani a message as plausibly reassuring as possible, then put his all into writing several insulting texts to Rafinha, the first of which went _you’re such a whore you probably need a tampon in your ass to keep it from dripping_ _shit_ _all the time_.

 

Texting while he walked was of course not a good idea, but Neymar thought he’d grown expert to the art. His body had fused and become one with his phone and it knew to avoid things on its way. Or so he thought, until he bumped into someone. He immediately looked up to apologize to whoever, except whoever stood still and smiled, and also whoever was accompanied by two other whoevers who stilled at Neymar’s sides.

 

“It’s pretty late for someone like you to be out there, alone, at this hour. Don’t you think?” Whoever said.

 

Neymar blinked. He felt his phone buzz in his hand – a new message from Dani.

 

“What’s someone like me?”

 

“A pussy.” Whoever said, looking him up and down with scorn. Right, the hairnet. “A _prey_.”

 

“I’m not a prey.” Not that he understood what it meant but he refused to be a prey, regardless.

 

The man snorted, and with no preamble he ordered, “Give us your phone and your wallet.”

 

“Wait what?” Neymar startled, and suddenly the two men siding him made sense. “No _way_.”

 

“It’s not a choice pussy.” and saying that, Whoever took out a knife. “Unless you _want_ to make it a choice.”

 

Neymar blinked, and his body froze in fear. Fuck. Mugged. He was being _mugged_.

 

“I don’t want to give you my phone,” he said automatically. He was quite close to wetting himself, again, yet a big part of his brain couldn’t stop thinking about how if he didn’t answer now Dani would worry and he absolutely needed to tell Rafinha what a fucker he was and also he would never remember his contact list and what if the mafia had an absolute immediate urgent urge to contact him and he didn’t answer and they killed him?

 

Also there were so many selfies on his phone, he couldn’t afford losing them.

 

He stood up straighter and wished his hands to stop shaking.

 

“I’ll repeat,” Whoever said, playing with his knife, “give me your phone.”

 

Neymar shoved his phone into his underwear. “Eat it,” he said.

 

“What the fuck did you say?!” Whoever took a step forward and looked successfully pissed.

 

Great. He was going to _die_.

 

And yet.

 

“I said eat it,” he repeated, making sure to articulate every syllables.

 

Sometimes, most of the time, one had to wonder why he couldn’t simply give up and stop pretending his balls were bigger than they actually were. He told himself he’d faced the mafia, he’d faced _El Jefecito_ , he’d reached the last level in Candy Crush Saga – he was tough, and these small fries weren’t going to impress him. Although they did but no one needed to know that.

 

Whoever snarled. “Oh you’re _gone_.” And before Neymar had the time to react, the two men at his sides had grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back.

 

Neymar yelped. “What the-”

 

He was cut short by a punch right to his stomach and had to double over, mouth open in a silent gasp of pain.

 

Holy _shit_ that hurt.

 

Neymar, belatedly, realized he’d never actually been in a fight. Although he’d started several, there had always been somehow somewhere someone to save his ass – mostly Dani, sometimes his sister. And fucking hell, a punch _hurt_.

 

Maybe. Maybe this was time to give up and beg.

 

“Wait-” he said as the man pulled his fist back, but Whoever didn’t wait and aimed at his face this time. Neymar thought his teeth would shatter and the pain spread through his whole jaw, making him feel like his face was going to explode. It was like a really, really bad headache. He tasted blood on his tongue and discovered there was a cut on his bottom lip that stung like it was on fire.

 

Whoever’s hand shoot forward and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, his fingers threading through the hairnet.

 

“Listen here pussy, I’m going to make you eat that pretty little tongue of yours,” Whoever said. The knife glinted in his hand. “I’ll cut it right off your mouth, shove it down your throat and watch you choke on it.”

 

It couldn’t be happening. Neymar stood still, unable to move or talk, frozen by shock, fear and disbelief. It couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real, this wasn’t a thing that happened, in real life, to him. No way, no fucking way-

 

Whoever grabbed his chin and two sets of hands held his head still. He could only whimper and blink back tears as the blade got closer to his mouth. He kept it closed tight but Whoever was holding his jaw so tightly he could hear his bones creak. Whoever probed the cut on his lip with his blade, and it hurt, fuck it hurt, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck he was so scared he was so scared he didn’t want to be hurt this couldn’t be happening this couldn’t be--

 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice came from behind Whoever’s back.

 

Neymar’s eyes were filled with tears and it took him time to focus on the newcomer that had just spoken. Short, sturdy, a pair of jeans and a long sleeved black shirt with Jesus on it. Short black hair, pale skin and the darkest of eyes. _Messi_. This was Leo _slash_ Messi _slash_ maybe Mascherano’s distant cousin _slash_ maybe an hallucination because Neymar was gone by this point.

 

Irrationally, relief washed over him. Maybe, maybe he would call the police, maybe he’d help Neymar, maybe he was there to save him--

 

But who was he kidding? He’d told the man he looked like a kid and beat him at video games. When Neymar had left the last time, he’d tried saying goodbye to his napping form but he’d been met with nothing but silence, despite being sure the man was awake. Messi hated his guts; he was probably here to finish the job himself.

 

“And who the fuck are you, midget? Mind your own fucking business, unless you wanna be next,” Whoever snarled.

 

The blade pressed anew against his lips,, but Messi didn’t budge from his spot.

 

“This boy here _is_ my business.”

 

Neymar could see Whoever roll his eyes before he finally let go of his jaw to turn around and face Messi. Neymar sagged in his captors’s hold. _Thank you little guy_ , he thought. Although, Messi didn’t stand a chance against these men, and Neymar didn’t want to witness a beating up either.

 

Whoever stepped forward, knife first. “Listen here-”

 

He never finished his sentence. In a flash, Messi had grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back and, Neymar realized with awe and disbelief, had dispossessed him of his knife and now held it under his throat.

 

 _What even_.

 

“I’m always listening,” Messi said, voice low but none of them would have though to say a word over it.

 

His attackers looked at each other and finally made a move, letting go of Neymar and charging forward.

 

Neymar could only watch in awe the following moments.

 

As one of them threw a punch, Messi expertly moved the body weight of his prisoner around to use him as a shield, and instead of hitting Messi’s face the punch connected with Whoever’s jaw. In a flash, Messi let go of Whoever and moved the knife from under his throat, aiming it straight at his attacker’s hand. The blade pierced through the skin and the flesh as Messi planted the his hand against the wall. The pained, terrible cry took a second to follow.

 

Neymar barely had the time to feel sick at the sight that already Messi was dodging another punch.

 

Neymar watched, trying to follow Messi’s moves as he dodged another attack, quick and confident and silent. There were a few spots of blood on his white skin, and his eyes were dark and cold. _T_ _his_ was certainly not a kid.

 

Messi aimed a kick at his attacker’s knee and Neymar _heard_ the bones crack. It was a fearsome noise, as fearsome as the sight of the man’s leg bent at an unnatural angle. The man cried out as he fell on the ground and Neymar expected it to be done, but, mercilessly, Messi stepped on his second knee and broke it, just like that, earning another terrible scream. Neymar didn’t think this was even possible, to break a knee by stepping on it.

 

 _One down_ , Neymar counted, eyes mad as they took everything in – the other guy had unpinned his hand from the wall and, tears rushing down his face, he was holding the knife in his other trembling hand, unsteady on his legs but intent on _hurting_. And Whoever, the leader of the three, was back on his legs, right behind Messi, ready to pu-

 

“Watch out!” Neymar screamed to alert him, but such was not needed.

 

With a sharp elbow to his stomach, Messi stopped Whoever’s attempt, and without much preamble, turned to grip his hair and smash his head against the wall. It was _bloody_. More blood splashed on Messi’s face and clothes, and as Whoever’s body dropped unconscious on the floor, face a mess he couldn’t recognize, Neymar had no idea whether he was alive or dead. He found that he didn’t want to know.

 

The man with the knife and the bloody hand charged forward with a furious cry, but he was rewarded by a simple but efficient kick to his nose that almost sent him flying.

 

And then nothing.

 

Neymar breathed heavily, shocked still as he looked at the scene before him, three big men lying on the floor and the small, unsuspecting man standing between them, his white skin marred with foreign blood and his eyes indifferent and bored.

 

This man was dangerous.

 

“Who are you?” one of the three men sobbed, the one whose legs were bent in unnatural ways. “Who the fuck--” a pained sob, “are you?”

 

Messi didn’t even look at him. He sought Neymar out with his eyes and nodded at him.

 

“Come on, let’s go.”

 

“Who are you?!” the man cried again, and Messi stepped over his body uncaringly.

 

He walked towards Neymar, and put a hand on his back once he reached him. He led him away and Neymar followed like a doll. Messi took him a few blocks away then stared at him expectantly.

 

Neymar leaned against the wall behind his back and, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, fell down on his ass.

 

“Holy shit.” He felt weak, exhausted, drained of all life. It couldn’t not be a _dream_.

 

He passed his tongue over his teeth, making sure each one of them was where it should be. He could still feel the blade against his lips, right there, cold and merciless. His body was shaking with leftover fear, disbelief and relief.

 

He watched Messi take off his shirt, swiping it over his face to clean it off the blood. He was surprisingly muscled. He also had a colorful tattoo taking up the whole space of his arm. The pink flower design seemed somewhat ironic, as did the Jesus tattooed on his biceps.

 

The sight wasn’t too bad, Neymar thought. Then again he might have been biased, given that the man had just _saved his damn life_.

 

“You-,” Neymar searched for words. “You’re a _ninja_.”

 

Messi stilled, arms in mid-air as he was about to put his shirt back on. After a few seconds he resumed his movements and slid his shirt back into place.

 

“You’re a freaking ninja,” Neymar repeated. “You’re like--- wow. _Ninja_.”

 

“And you’re an idiot,” Messi countered. “How did you get yourself in this mess?”

 

“Ah.” Messi’s words reminded him of the reason this whole thing started, and he fished his phone out from his underwear. “They wanted my phone,” he said, looking it over. The text he’d started was still there, unfinished.

 

“Gross,” Messi said, nose scrunching up in disgust. “Did you think they wouldn’t dare take it there?”

 

“I… don’t know?”

 

“They would have, and you’d have been dead, tongueless and pantless instead of just dead and tongueless.”

 

Neymar shivered at the word _tongueless_ , and as he felt some lump come up again in his throat he shoved those words in the back of his mind. He’d left the nightmares for the night when he couldn’t stop them.

 

“Well I couldn’t just give them my phone,” he insisted.

 

“Are you stupid?” Messi said, rising his eyebrows in disbelief. “This is exactly what you should have done.”

 

“But then I wouldn’t have my phone,” Neymar protested

 

“But you’d be alive.”

 

“I’m alive.”

 

“No thanks to yourself,” Messi pointed out.

 

Neymar looked down at his phone. He clutched it in his hand. He knew he’d been stupid but he…

 

“I didn’t really think this through.”

 

“Of course you didn’t . Otherwise you’d know better than to antagonize a man with a _knife_.”

 

“I,” Neymar licked his lips. “My mouth has a mind on its own. I speak before I think; it’s a medical condition.”

 

Messi considered him for a second. “Somehow, I’d almost believe you. Either way, you were stupid from the start to go down this path. Do you know where you are? Those areas are controlled by gangs and filled with rats. That’s no place for someone like you at this hour.” He looked him up and down. “Even more so dressed like this.”

 

Neymar shifted self-consciously, remembering the see-through hairnet. Fucking Marcos and his damn ideas.

 

“It’s the shortest way home,” he answered instead, fighting off his embarrassment.

 

“It’s also the most dangerous.”

 

Neymar frowned. He’d more or less heard about what happened in these parts, but taking another route meant a 20 minutes detour and at such an hour, Neymar was way too tired. He worked for about 10 hours every day of the week and to waste 20 minutes felt like 20 years.

 

Messi shook him out of his thoughts by offering him his hand. Neymar took it gratefully, allowing Messi to lift him to his feet. His legs were shaky and Neymar stumbled, but Messi steadied him with a strong hand on his side.

 

“You saved me,” he said again. He couldn’t get over that.

 

Messi’s cold, indifferent look was gone, and instead was a boy that was shorter than him and looked overall grumpy. How the hell could someone like him have been so awfully strong and terrifying?

 

“Thank you, thank you so much.”

 

“It’s nothing,” Messi said, looking almost embarrassed.

 

“No, no. You saved my life. You’re my savior. You’re my superman, like a super small mafia ninja.”

 

“A sma--”

 

Before Messi could finish his sentence and take the time to be indignant about the super small comment, Neymar threw his arms around him. _Thank you_ , he whispered again against his neck, Messi stiff and unresponsive under him.

 

Messi didn’t say anything as Neymar held onto him and trembled. He didn’t say anything, didn’t mention how Neymar’s lashes were wet against his neck and how his frame was shaking against his. He didn’t say anything and Neymar was thankful **,** although he doubted Messi kept silent out of tact.

 

It was weird, to feel safe holding onto a man who he knew was part of the mafia, but saving his life had had a drastic effect on how he perceived him.

 

“Thanks,” Neymar said again when he pulled back, offering a genuine smile to Messi’s unwavering stare.

 

Neymar turned around to take in his environment. He wasn’t lost and actually only needed to take the street to his right to be home in 5 minutes.

 

“Are you for real?” Messi’s voice stopped him when he started walking.

 

Neymar turned towards him questioningly.

 

“I told you this is a dangerous area and you’re heading there again.”

 

“I… I’ve already been mugged once? And I’m almost home.”

 

“You-” Messi looked at him with wide eyes and shook his head. “Nevermind.” he said. “I’ll walk you home.”

 

“What? Wait I-”

 

Already, Messi had went past him and was now doing a vague gesture with his hand that could only mean _shut up_. Neymar found that a part of himself felt incredibly relieved as he caught up to the little ninja man.

 

“So tell me,” he said when he reached him. “What are _you_ doing up at this hour? I didn’t peg you as someone who left their house, ever.” Neymar had definitely pegged him for a nerd, actually.

 

“Business,” Messi answered. “None of your concern.”

 

“Oh-oh! Adding mystery to your character are you?” Neymar asked, flashing a big smile.

 

Messi stared at him.

 

“A medical condition,” Neymar reminded him. “It’s incurable.”

 

This actually got a smile out of the small man, and Neymar felt quite proud of himself.

 

“But man, doing business for the family business? And here I thought you were Mascherano’s kid.”

 

Messi snorted. “I’m older than you.”

 

“No you aren’t,” Neymar laughed.

 

“I’m 28.”

 

At that, Neymar had to stop and stare. “No way.” His mouth opened and closed but he couldn’t make any words. That would mean Messi was eight years older than himself, except he looked between 15 and 20, depending on the angle, and whether or not he was currently trying to kill someone. “You’re lying.”

 

Messi shrugged, and Neymar could only stare in disbelief and awe.

 

“28 is so-- you’re so old.”

 

“Thanks,” Messi said dryly.

 

“I mean that’s--” _old_ was the only thing he could think about. Neymar was 20 and to think Messi had eight years over him felt insane, and Neymar felt like a kid. A kid walking with the stranger he was told not to talk to, the dangerous man, the one who had seen more things than he probably ever would, the one who had most likely killed people, the one who had had blood on his face and boredom in his eyes.

 

He reminded him of something actually. Someone dark haired, someone pale as the moon, someone small and grumpy, and very very strong.

 

 _Sasuke_.

 

Neymar bit the inside of his cheek and averted his eyes to swallow down his laughter, unsuccessfully. Messi frowned at him as he tried to stifle his giggle.

 

“Nothing,” he answered his questioning look. “Nothing.” He pointed to a building a block away to distract him. “That is my dorm.”

 

Messi finally looked away and at the building. He hummed, and they walked the last steps in silence. Once they reached the building, they both stopped walking and nothing happened for a few seconds.

 

“Why did you even save me?” Neymar finally asked the question that had been in the back of his mind. “I… don’t have any worth do I? I owe a debt to your boss so-”

 

“Masche’s not my boss,” Messi said quickly. Then before Neymar could wonder about it, he added, “And you can’t repay a debt once you’re dead can you?”

 

“I… guess so.”

 

Messi shrugged. “Who cares anyway? I just did. Go home already.”

 

Neymar furrowed his brows. “Why does it feel like you’re telling me to fuck off.”

 

“Fuck off,” Messi said, a glint in his eyes and the corner of his lips twitching. Neymar’s face mirrored his, and he let a full smile blossom on his face.

 

He guessed Messi wanted to stay a mysterious man. He wasn’t at the level yet where he revealed to him that his big brother had murdered his whole family during the night so he could test his skills as a ninja.

 

Neymar averted his eyes again, turning away and managing a high-pitched _goodbye_ before he hurried back to the safety of his dorm, where he could laugh to his heart’s content without offending dangerous small men.

 

Somehow, this train of thoughts and Messi’s last playful smile helped him not think about the way his stomach hurt, the way his face was numb, the way his clothes were dirty with cold sweat. He took everything off and fell onto his bed, curling into a ball and falling asleep with a smile on his face.

 

Barely an hour later, he was waking up in tears and had to run to his bathroom to throw up. He didn’t manage to fall back asleep. He guessed he had that coming.

 

 

–

 

 

The following day, he wasted no time retelling the previous night to Marcos. Marcos, a professional gossip, listened to everything avidly.

 

“And then I said goodbye and went to sleep,” he finished.

 

Marcos hummed. “Well I knew he had business in the area, but that he’d go through the trouble of saving you uh…”

 

“Yeah and he was…. I mean how is it possible that he’s so-- strong? He just-- He’s so small and he--”

 

“Aaaah,” Marcos said, leaning back in his chair. “I see it’s time to tell you about our wonder boy. Lionel Messi.” His eyes glinted as he said the name. “Out story begins in 1895--”

 

“Hey!” Neymar attempted to slap his head, but Marcos dodged easily.

 

“Alright for real. This was a walk in the park for someone like him. Lionel Messi isn’t human; he’s too strong to be human. Every time Mascherano has trouble with a gang, he sends Messi to wipe them out.”

 

Neymar frowned. “But he said Mascherano wasn’t his boss.”

 

Marcos shrugged. “It’s complicated. I’m not sure exactly what’s the nature of their relationship. They’re friends of sorts, I guess. Messi doesn’t work under him but he works for him, somehow. He’s there every time something important happens, he knows all the stuff, and I know for a fact he does some dirty work. He’s been there since the start, since the early hours of this mafia, and he helped built it to what it is now. That’s why, he’s the wonder boy. Imagine,” Marcos leaned forward. “18 years old Messi, long hair, fresh out of high school, barging into a bar and killing every singly person in it.”

 

Neymar didn’t particularly want to imagine it, but he did anyway.

 

“The wonder boy,” he repeated thoughtfully.

 

“Yep,” Marcos nodded. “Though if you want my opinion, he’s a bit of a spoiled kid. Anything he wants, he gets. Lucky he doesn’t want many things,” Marcos said with a grin.

 

“You’re absolutely not helpful you know that.”

 

Marcos shrugged. “He isn’t really the type of guy who shares a lot about himself.”

 

“I guessed as much,” Neymar muttered.

 

There was a loud noise upstairs, followed by a scream that made Neymar turn his head. Another handsy customers. The pigs, there somehow managed to be several of them a week. Marcos got up from his seat, but before accomplishing his duty he turned back to him.

 

“Also Ney.”

 

Neymar looked at him questioningly and found Marcos with an uncharacteristic serious look on his face.

 

“You should go to a doctor to check nothing’s broken inside.”

 

And then he was gone before Neymar could say thank you.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar was dead tired, again. When he left the brothel that day, the blinking letters of _It’s always sunny in Uranus_ lighting his way down the streets, he thought he might just nest in the trash so he didn’t have to walk.

 

He walked mindlessly like a zombie, barely noticing as he took his usual path, the one Messi had more or less told him not to take the previous night. But Neymar was tired, he wasn’t in any state to think things through. In zombie mode, he couldn’t remember what the knife had felt like against his lips anyway.

 

He realized he might have made the wrong decision when a hand clapped his shoulder and Neymar all but screamed.

 

“ _Chill_ ,” Messi said.

 

Neymar stumbled back and put a hand over his beating heart.

 

“I thought I was going to _die_.”

 

“If you were so afraid of dying you wouldn’t be walking this way.”

 

Neymar closed his eyes and took deep breaths in, letting relief calm his heartbeat.

 

“I’m tired,” he finally answered.

 

Messi snorted.

 

“Don’t be a fucking idiot. Take the other way.”

 

“No.” There was no way he could walk for 30 minutes. He’d been standing for too many hours, his legs were jelly.

 

“Take. The. Other. Way.” Messi insisted.

 

“ _No_ ,” Neymar repeated, petulantly. “If I take that route I might just fall asleep in the middle of the road. What if I fall asleep on a crossroad? How is _that_ safe? A car might just run me over.”

 

“Don’t joke around.”

 

“Why do you care anyway,” Neymar argued, feeling like a child.

 

Messi looked somewhat annoyed. “There was no point in saving you yesterday if you’re going to die today.”

 

“I’m not taking the longer route.”

 

Messi stared at him and for a moment Neymar thought he might just kill him himself.

 

Eventually, Messi just sighed. He looked pretty annoyed when he said, “If that’s how it’s going to be, I’ll walk you home.”

 

“What? You don’t need to.”

 

“Of course I don’t.” Messi said hauntingly. “But I hate conducting interviews for your job and Masche always wants me there. I sure as hell am not letting you fuck off and die.”

 

“So that’s how it is?” Neymar said, grinning. He couldn’t be sure how much of it was the truth, but he found the idea that a man who belonged to the mafia was selfish and self-centered pretty reassuring. It was definitely safer than thinking of him as a kind-hearted savior.

 

They walked a few steps in silence before Neymar spoke, unable to bear the lack of sound.

 

“Did you actually wake up this early just for me?”

 

Messi seemed startled by the question and then, somehow, embarrassed. “That’s none of your business.”

 

“You did!” Neymar laughed. “That’s almost cute.”

 

“Shut up,” Messi muttered. Neymar wondered if he was dreaming the blush on his ears.

 

 _Not a kind-hearted savior_ , he tried to remind himself. He thus shut up for a whole two minutes before his tongue itched again.

 

“Where do you come from?” he asked curiously.

 

Messi didn’t answer, staring at him reproachfully. Oh, Neymar felt pretty reproachful towards himself too but he went on either way.

 

“You have an accent. I think I heard it before?”

 

“Argentina,” Messi answered after a few seconds.

 

“Argentina uh… I come from Brazil! Means we’re enemies right?” Neymar grinned.

 

Messi kept walking.

 

Neymar kept talking.

 

“Well I haven’t been to Brazil since I was 4 though. Airplane tickets are expensive aren’t they? And well, I don’t have much money. I don’t need to tell you that, uh?” Neymar smiled. His situation was quite self-explanatory for this one.

 

As expected, Messi kept quiet and so Neymar rambled on his own, filling the silence with his voice as he told stories about his hometown and playing football in the streets with his sister. He got a laugh out of Messi when he told him about that time he hid behind his sister when two teenagers stole their ball. It was shocking enough, seeing Messi laugh, with the open mouth and the dimples on his cheeks. Had he not known him Neymar would have found him cute, except he should know better. _Not a kind-hearted savior._ He should write it down somewhere. It would make a prettier tattoo than the Jesus on Messi’s biceps.

 

Just like that, the minutes flew by. Neymar’s voice was almost the only one that resounded, yet he found the walk pleasant, satisfied with Messi’s monosyllabic answers and occasional snorts and smiles. He was almost disappointed when they reached their destination.

 

At the foot of his building, he turned to Messi and cleared his throat. “Thanks again. For today. And yesterday.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

“No really, I--”

 

Neymar couldn’t convey how grateful he was, and actions meant more didn’t they? He didn’t think as he bent down and planted a kiss on Messi’s cheek, a thank you, the kind he gave his mom and his sister, the kind the prostitutes at Uranus gave him when they thanked him, a kiss on his cheek or on his mouth, sweet and incredibly warm.

 

He pulled back, a soft smile on his face to voice one last thank you, but he found it blocked in his throat when he took in Messi’s intense stare and the frown on his face.

 

Maybe, Neymar should have taken into account that Messi was neither his mom, nor his sister, nor a prostitute, but an actual 28 years old grown man who more or less belonged to the mafia.

 

Neymar felt his face warm up and he stuttered a quick, “g-good night,” before leaving without further ado.

 

 _Not a kind-hearted savior_ , he wrote on a post-it note on his fridge.

 

He made another,

 

_Don’t kiss people on the cheek._

 

And another,

 

_Just don’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh I almost forgot - one of the secondary pairings will be Kun/Marcos Rojo, which probably sounds weird to many people. I actually like this pairing because it's been said that back in 2014, they got in an argument because Rojo brought the ex of Kun's gf to the Argentine locker room. Pretty funny story overall, but anyway that's what sprung this pairing.


	3. don't ask him questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first draft of this chapter was 7k, but thankfully I've reduced it to less than 6k. Ah well, many different scenes in this chapter and yet nothing much happen. Secondary characters get to speak up a bit more though, I guess.  
> Also, no particular warning for this chapter.

“And he just stood there. He didn’t say anything, almost looked angry,” Neymar said, worrying his lips between his teeth. What were the odds that a kiss on the cheek was actually an unforgivable offense in the mafia? “I just wanted to thank him you know? Isn’t it-- I don’t know, a normal thing?”

 

“I don’t kiss people on the cheeks,” Marcos pointed out.

 

“But you’re dead inside,” Pocho said, rolling his eyes. He leaned over and smiled at Neymar. “Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything wrong _lindo_.”

 

“You think?” Neymar asked hopefully. When he wasn’t trying to get into his pants, Pocho was actually a nice guy.

 

Marcos snorted and let out a short laugh. “Oh you shouldn’t trust him. He probably thinks going down on Messi would have been an adequate way to thank him.”

 

“Ah well,” there was a mirthful smile at the corner of Pocho’s mouth, “you can’t deny it would have conveyed gratitude _really_ well.”

 

“I-” Neymar was horrified. “I’m not _that_ grateful!”

 

“You aren’t?” Marcos inquired. “Man if you aren’t even willing to suck the dick of the man who saved your life, your ass must be closed so tight.”

 

Neymar hung his head down and held it between his hands. “God you’re not being helpful,” he complained. “You’re not being helpful at all.”

 

 

–

 

 

His phone showed 5:38 am and Neymar wanted nothing more than to go home.

 

“Ney,” Marcos called, catching him right as he was about to leave. “Do you need to be walked home?”

 

Neymar blinked. “That’s unexpectedly nice,” he commented. “But no don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

 

Marcos looked doubtful. “You sure?”

 

“Yeah, I’ve already been mugged once so I’ll be fine.”

 

“I fail to see logic in that.”

 

Neymar shrugged. “I watched a kung-fu movie yesterday.”

 

“Wow,” Marcos deadpanned. “And here I was almost _worried_.”

 

Neymar grinned, readying himself to demonstrate some of the moves he’d learned, when he heard the front door open behind him.

 

“It’s closed,” he said automatically, not even bothering to turn back.

 

“I know,” a voice answered behind him and that’s not a voice Neymar was about to forget.

 

He spined around and standing there, wearing the exact same outfit as the previous day, stood Lionel Messi

 

“Messi,” he blurted out. “Hi. What- uh.”

 

Messi was frowning – was he ever not? – his fists stuffed in his pockets and kicking at dust.

 

“I said I’d walk you home.”

 

“I thought it was a one time thing?” He’d also thought Messi was going to kill him for daring to put his dirty commoner lips on his precious, expensive cheek.

 

“What use it that?” Messi answered. “You can get mugged any other day, and then helping you at all was useless.”

 

“If you hate doing useless things that much, you should have avoided helping me in the first place..”

 

He ignored Marcos’s laughter and the mocking _exactly what he said_ behind him.

 

Messi grumbled, kicking more angrily at a particularly resilient speck of dust. “Well what’s done is done. Can we go already?”

 

“You’re really doing this?” Neymar wanted to make sure this wasn’t one big joke orchestrated by Mascherano or something.

 

“I never go back on my words.”

 

It would have been attractive – and it was – but Messi was still kicking at nothing, and Neymar did wonder how he managed to pull of looking like an emo teenager and a dangerous criminal all at the same time.

 

He followed Messi out of the club, not bothering telling Marcos’s shit-eating grin good bye.

 

They walked for several minutes in silence. Neymar was behind Messi – did these small legs carry him fast – observing his back curiously.

 

“Are you really going to do that? Every night? Always?”

 

Messi glanced back at him.

 

“What do you think?”

 

“I think you’re weird.”

 

Messi huffed. “That makes two of us.”

 

“You think you’re weird too?” Neymar frowned confusedly. Did he have low self-esteem? Poor guy. He wondered if mafiosos had therapists.

 

“No I- I meant I think _you_ ’re weird.”

 

“ _Aaaah_ ,” Neymar exclaimed. “That makes more sense.”

 

Messi looked at him like he was an alien and Neymar thought this was very sad that a super small mafia ninja Sasuke look-alike found _him_ weird.

 

Several more seconds passed in silence before Neymar’s intense need to talk caught up to him.

 

“We’re not going to spend every day in silence, right?”

 

“I don’t mind.”

 

“Tell me about yourself.”

 

“No.”

 

Well, that had been fast.

 

Neymar coughed to cover up his defeat. “Then ask me about myself.”

 

He didn’t know what he was expecting but the following silence should have been it. And then, a miracle, Messi actually did speak up.

 

“Tell me a story.”

 

“A story?” Neymar frowned. That wasn’t exactly what he’d asked but then again _mafia_ , so if a story he wanted a story he’ll get.

 

“Like yesterday. A story about Brazil. Stuff like that.”

 

“Ah!” Neymar’s face lit up with understanding. “Oh I have _plenty_ of these. Do you wanna hear about that time I shaved my head because of a bet? I cried for _days_.”

 

A slow smile played on Messi’s lips. “Sounds good.”

 

And just like that, Neymar lost himself in tales of his childhood, stupid tales as he had many of them, and just like yesterday these few minutes they had left flew by with amusement in Messi’s eyes. Neymar loved being watched after all and he found that putting on a show for an audience as difficult as Messi was very rewarding.

 

 

–

 

 

“Will you fucking stop calling me you dickhead,” was the first thing Neymar said when he answered the phone. It’d been ringing for close to an hour now and Rafinha didn’t seem to be giving up anytime soon.

 

“Where the fuck are you.”

 

“I-”

 

“Don’t dare say you’re home because we both know you’re not.”

 

Neymar bit his lips, wondering what lie he was currently on. A new job, volunteer work, a boyfriend, an incurable disease?

 

“Why is it so loud around you?” Rafinha asked.

 

“I’m at a party.”

 

“A party,” Rafinha repeated quizzically.

 

“Yeah, a party.”

 

“Right. And which imaginary friend invented you to this imaginary party?”

 

“It’s not- It’s a real party! I’m in a bar and we’re having a party. With my boyfriend, and his friends. For his best-friend’s birthday. His best-friend who is turning uh. Older. By one year. We’re partying, for that.”

 

Rafinha, shockingly enough, didn’t seem to believe him. “That sounds like a fucking lie.”

 

“That’s not a lie. That’s not- just leave me alone dammit!”

 

“Not until you tell me where you are.”

 

“At a party! I’m at a party! I’m-”

 

A big white hand seized his phone before he could invent a new elaborate lie, and he watched in horror as Ter Stegen brought his phone to his ear.

 

“ _Ha_ _llo_?” he said into the phone. “This is Marc-André Ter Stegen.”

 

A pause. Rafinha answering.

 

“Yes I’ve organized a party for my birthday and Neymar was kind enough to come too. I’m sorry if it was an inconvenience to you. Did you have plans together?” Ter Stegen asked, sounding genuinely sorry and _oh_ he was saving him, his tall German savior.

 

“Oh no, not at all,” Ter Stegen said. “I really am sorry to have caused you such worry.” A pause. “Yes then, I apologize for interrupting your conversation. _Auf Wiedersehen._ ”

 

Ter Stegen handed him his phone back, smiling confidently. Neymar was this close to crying from relief.

 

The first thing Rafinha said was, “Who was that guy just now his voice made me wet.”

 

“You’re a tramp.”

 

“You’re not one to talk, but also tell me about Marc-André. Is he tall? Is he good-looking?”

 

“I’m not giving ammo to your shameless fantasies.”

 

“If you think you can keep hot men away from me,” Rafinha warned. “But fine. You’re free for now. Have fun with your _boyfriend_.”

 

Neymar hung up and sagged in relief.

 

“Shit man, I owe you big time,” he looked up at Ter Stegen gratefully.

 

 _El Alem_ _á_ _n_ shook his head and smiled. “Don’t worry, it’s always a pleasure to be able to help a friend.”

 

 _Friend_ he said, and Neymar almost teared up.

 

“Your friend seems worried about you,” Ter Stegen said, accepting a glass of water. “He’s a good friend.”

 

“I guess,” Neymar admitted reluctantly. “He’s still an asshole though. He said your voice made him _wet_.”

 

Ter Stegen laughed loudly, showing two pointy teeth. “That isn’t a bad thing!”

 

“Neither is it a good thing. He’s a _whore_.”

 

“Everyone is, here,” Ter Stegen pointed out mischievously. “Give your friend my thanks!”

 

“You’re too nice. But he really _is_ a whore.”

 

Ter Stegen chuckled, then his big warm German hand ruffled his head affectionately and Neymar resisted against the urge to call him _mein Engel_.

 

 

–

 

 

Later that night, Marcos came to him with a full bag and Neymar was reminded of this other chore of theirs – bringing the benefits back to the boss.

 

Neymar reached for the notebook but Marcos pulled back and leveled him with a judgmental stare.

 

“Are you going to shove it down your pants again?”

 

“Yes?”

 

Marcos grinned and handed him the notebook. “Good.”

 

 

–

 

 

When they reached the door to the office, Neymar was surprised to see two figures waiting by the door. Both were short and stocky, both had dark hair and dark eyes, but one had some kind of _faux-Mohawk_ and a big dorky smile on his face while the other was Messi. He might have been smiling.

 

“Hey there, Messi, _Agüero_ ,” Marcos greeted them.

 

The smile immediately dropped off of Aguëro’s face.

 

“ _Rojo_ ,” he answered darkly.

 

They stared at each other, Marcos with an unnerving grin and Aguëro with a sour face except he was rather small and chubby in the cheeks and that kind of killed the whole look.

 

Neymar elected to ignore whatever silent war was going on between the two and instead focused his attention on Messi.

 

“Hi.”

 

Messi nodded. “I was waiting for you.”

 

 _Scary_ , Neymar thought.

 

“Scary,” Neymar said. Messi looked a bit taken aback. “It’s a medical condition,” Neymar justified quickly.

 

Messi thankfully ignored this misstep.

 

“Masche’s in there,” he told Marcos. “You can take care of it with Kun.” His eyes then focused on Neymar. “I want a rematch at Mario Kart.”

 

Neymar blinked. “I can’t say this is what I expected,” he said, then allowed a giggle to escape his mouth.

 

He fished the notebook inside his pants and handed it to Marcos, who deftly directed it to Aguëro.

 

“I’m not-” Aguëro protested.

 

“Come on Kun, please,” Messi said.

 

That seemed to do the trick, for Aguëro begrudgingly took the book from his hands with as few fingers as possible while glaring at him.

 

“Don’t look like that Aguëro,” Marcos butted in. “We get to spend time together, talk about things we have in common – like Karina for example. She says hi by the way.”

 

Neymar frowned – he was pretty sure Karina had said no such thing – and found himself even more confused when Aguëro started looking very red in the face, chubby hands balled into tiny fists.

 

“Don’t say her name,” he threatened non-threateningly.

 

“Karina?” Marcos repeated, a provocative smile on his face.

 

That was enough for Aguëro to grab the front of his shirt and sneer into his face. “You don’t get to say _her_ name you-”

 

“Kun!” Messi interrupted.

 

Aguëro stopped immediately, taking a deep breath before letting go of Marcos and his shark-like smirk.

 

“He’s provoking me,” Aguëro protested.

 

Messi snorted. “You’re not a child. Control yourself.”

 

“Like you’re one to talk,” Agüero muttered, earning himself a glare.

 

Privately, Neymar did also think this was pretty ironic coming from someone who’d quitted a game of Mario Kart because he was losing. From the look on Marios’s face, Messi wasn’t fooling anyone in this room.

 

Messi ignored Aguëro’s comment and turned around, expecting Neymar to follow. Before going though, Neymar threw a questioning glance at Marcos, but all he got was a wink and a thumb up. Hopefully, he and Aguëro didn’t end up killing each other because he had no idea how to back to Uranus on his own.

 

After that, nothing much happened. Messi had him play Mario Kart, Neymar mostly won, Messi decided Mario Kart wasn’t worth his time, he threw the game in the trash ( _he threw the game in the trash!_ Neymar’s inner commoner protested in outrage).

 

Then Messi said, “I’m tired. I’m going to nap.”

 

Neymar had anticipated this outcome. He gracefully got up from the couch and went to pick up his bag. Before exiting the room though, he looked back at Messi, who was already spread lazily over his couch, eyes closed and gracelessly scratching his crotch.

 

“So,” Neymar called to catch his attention. “I’ll see you later?”

 

Messi didn’t even bother opening his eyes.

 

“Don’t ask obvious things, idiot”

 

 

–

 

 

Marcos was smiling. His bottom lip was split and his clothes were crumpled and there was a bruise on his cheekbone, but he was smiling.

 

“What happened to you?” Neymar asked, looking him over.

 

“Got into a fight with Aguëro.”

 

“And that’s… a good thing?” Neymar asked, puzzled.

 

Marcos shrugged. “They separated us before things got ugly. It was _fun_.”

 

Neymar squinted. “You’re all weird. What’s so fun about being in a fight?”

 

“You say that because you get your ass handed back to you in fights.”

 

Neymar glared at his back as Marcos went ahead, exiting the estate to go back to Uranus. He jogged to keep up with his long legs.

 

“What’s up with you and Aguëro anyway?”

 

“Isn’t it obvious? He hates my guts.”

 

“Yeah but why?” Neymar thought for a second then added hesitantly, “Does it have anything to do with Karina?”

 

“Oh you picked up on that?” Marcos said, looking amused. He leaned in secretly, “Aguëro, you see, is in _love_.”

 

“With Karina?”

 

“Precisely. Here’s how the story goes: Aguëro, a simple soul, visits Uranus for a meeting on a Thursday. Do you know what it means?”

 

“It’s… uh, _Uranus on fire_ night?” Neymar answered, thinking of the stage they put up in the early evening so the prostitutes could dance and sing and demonstrate various talents. This was basically a striptease show. Mascherano apparently believed in ‘ _diversifying the_ _revenue streams_ _’_.

 

“Yet another good answer. What a smart little boy we have here!” Marcos exclaimed.“And now who’s all pretty and charming singing a love song on stage?”

 

“Karina?”

 

“Good boy,” Marcos said again, ruffling Neymar’s hair. “Karina’s standing there, charming money away from customers. Her eyes meet those of our main protagonist, she winks at him, sends him a kiss, and _bam_ , he’s in love.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

“I told you our main protagonist is a simple soul.”

 

Neymar blinked several times. “And that’s supposed to tell me why he hates you?”

 

“Wait, I’m getting to it. So our guy falls in love, but he’s dumb so he doesn’t do anything about it. Then he overhears people talking about Karina having a lover and Aguëro gets it into his head that a good boyfriend would do everything to get her out of here instead of letting her debase herself like that – nevermind she chose that job on her own. Then another day he overhears her saying she needs to work for two people and _w_ _h_ _oosh_ , no-good boyfriend becomes a pimp in Aguëro’s inner lands.”

 

“And you come into play because…?”

 

“Isn’t it obvious? He thinks I’m her boyfriend.”

 

“He thinks--- _aaaah_.”

 

“Yep. Or should I say, he thinks I’m her pimp. And ever since then he’s wanted me dead.”

 

“Um. That’s almost sweet in a way? But also-- you’re not her boyfriend are you?”

 

Marcos rolled his eyes. “Dude. You know that girl that picks Karina up every Friday?”

 

“Maybe?”

 

“That’s her girlfriend.”

 

“Her- wait what?”

 

“Her _girlfriend_. Karina is a _lesbian_.”

 

“A les-”

 

“A gay. A lesbian. A carpet muncher. A coochie enthusiast. She’s been eating pussy before she knew what vegetables tasted like.”

 

“I got it, I got it! No need to be so crude,” Neymar protested.

 

“Who did you think she was?”

 

“Her sister?”

 

“They left holding hands.”

 

Neymar shrugged. “I hold hand with my sister too. Sometimes we also sleep in the same bed. It’s not weird.”

 

“It is actually,” Marcos said. “But anyway you’re stupid.”

 

“I just didn’t know! But that makes sense, I guess. Because her girlfriend is a student right? And she doesn’t make money.”

 

“Smart boy, do you want a cookie?”

 

“Shut up,” Neymar mumbled. “But then, why don’t you tell Aguëro you’re not her boyfriend?”

 

Marcos snorted. “Now where would be the fun in _that_?”

 

“Right. Because getting into fight is so much fun.”

 

“Isn’t there anything funnier than watching a small guy making an ass out of himself?” Marcos inquired with a grin.

 

“Cartoons. Snapchat filters,” Neymar answered dryly. “Anything that doesn’t involve getting hit in the face.”

 

Marcos laughed, the maniac.First Rafinha called him like the annoying douchebag he was, then a criminal asked him a rematch at Mario Kart, and now he was to work with a man that liked being punched in the face.

 

“You’re all a bunch of weirdos. Just-- weirdos.”

 

“Are you aware everyone can see the Spongebob underwear you’re wearing?” Marcos asked, falling into step with him. “It’s very cute.”

 

“Weirdos,” Neymar muttered, tugging his pants back up.

 

 

–

 

 

It was half past seven and Neymar had just arrived at Uranus for his shift. He was taking off his coat when a voice startled him.

 

“So you’re a _whore_?”

 

He turned around, might or might not have yelled in the process, and found himself face to face with an appalled Rafinha.

 

“Holy sh-”

 

“That’s what you’ve been doing at night? You’re selling yourself? Do you need money that much?”

 

“What? What?”

 

“I’ve always known you were shameless but Neymar, this is dangerous. This area is dangerous, your dick is going to _rot_ because of STDs.”

 

“What? I’m not-”

 

“If you need money you could have just asked. Unless-” Rafa suddenly looked horrified. “Do you have a pimp? Is that it? We have to tell Dani, Dani always knows what to do he’ll-”

 

“Rafa!” Neymar shrieked, a high-pitched voice that managed to stop his friend mid-freak out. “I’m not a whore! I’m not a prostitute. And if I _was_ , I’d use condoms alright?”

 

“Sure,” Rafinha said doubtfully.

 

“I _would_. But I’m not. Doing that.”

 

“Then _what the fuck_ are you doing there?”

 

“I’m a bartender,” Neymar answered. “Or a waiter, sometimes. I clean a bit too. I mean, I’m mostly serving drinks though.”

 

Rafinha didn’t look convinced.

 

“Look, you can just come inside and watch for yourself?”

 

Rafa didn’t need to be told twice. He took a decided step forward, following him to his bar.

 

“See?” Neymar said. “I manage the bar. Serve drinks. I’m not doing anything else.”

 

Rafinha didn’t say anything else, silently looking around at the still empty room, the black leather, the red couch, the stairs and the weirdly-shaped decorative items.

 

“This place is run by the mafia, Ney.”

 

“I know.”

 

Rafinha turned to him. “You’re working for the mafia?”

 

“No-”

 

“I’ve always found it weird how you paid for you sis’s study, and now it makes sense. You’re stupid, of course you’d go asking the mafia for money, I should have known, I’m well acquainted with your two brain cells and all they think about are selfies and snapbacks, you just can’t take care of yourself and-”

 

“Rafinha!”

 

“What? _Isn’t_ this place run by the mafia? And _aren’t you_ working there? _Didn’t you_ borrow money from them? Tell me I’m wrong.”

 

“I,” Neymar bit his lips. “Well I _did_. But it’s not bad, I’m just a bartender.”

 

“Not bad,” Rafinha said dryly. “You’re working in a place that make money off of abusing girls and it’s _not bad?_ ”

 

“I thought so at first! But it’s not this kind of place.”

 

“Don’t try to make it sound better Ney. I’m here now, there’s nothing you can hide. Fuck, how much do you owe them? You need to get out of here.”

 

“I told you it’s not like that!” Neymar protested. And really, a part of him was happy that Rafinha cared, but his two brain cells were also pretty upset at having been criticized like that.

 

“Don’t lie to me,” Rafinha said supremely,clicking his tongue.

 

“Alright look. Why don’t you stay here? This way you can see I’m not lying.”

 

“You’re stupid if you think I’m leaving you there alone.”

 

“You asshole,” Neymar said fondly.

 

And thus his friend stood behind him at the bar and stared critically as he put things away and prepared a few drinks for the prostitutes.

 

He watched as the workers slowly trickled into the room, greeting each other, greeting Neymar, taking their drinks with a smile. There were a few curious glances behind his back and Neymar could only imagine what kind of face Rafinha was making.

 

The first real issue came when Pocho arrived.

 

“Hey _lindo_ ,” he greeted, a flirtatious smile on his lips. Neymar handed him his drink and, with slow horror, watched as Pocho’s eyes traveled behind him and his smile became even dirtier. “And _who_ is that?

 

“No one,” Neymar blurted out. “Doesn’t matter.”

 

“In a haste are you?” Pocho said. He leaned in. “Could it be your boyfriend? My, the two of you would must look pretty in bed.”

 

“Pocho-”

 

“Wouldn’t mind watching, you know? If you two are ever up for it.”

 

“Pocho,” Neymar hissed. “Can you drop it? I’ll tell you later.”

 

“Sure _lindo_ ,” Pocho said, obediently taking his drink and sashaying away – but not before giving one last wink in Rafinha’s direction.

 

Rafinha didn’t make any comment but he did cough very meaningfully behind him.

 

“What?” Neymar said defensively. “This proves nothing.”

 

Rafinha hummed critically and that was the end of it.

 

During the hours that followed, Neymar had to stress about the two men who tried to chat him up at the bar, the one adventurous man who thought Rafinha was a worker here, Marcos who, most likely warned of his whereabouts by Pocho, kept glaring at the bar for the sole purpose of making Neymar’s life even harder. There were also all these lecherous men in the room, hands all over bodies that didn’t belong to them, eyes more intrusive than any hands could be. There were all these men and women dressed in barely enough clothes for the weather, there was this general air of debauchery, white powder on some tables and men in suits exchanging roll of bills. There was all of this and even more, and Neymar remembered how he’d felt on his first days, how he’d been sick and scared, and he didn’t dare turn to look at Rafinha. He already knew without looking how he was feeling.

 

Neymar didn’t know what to do to show Rafinha he was safe in here – everyone one was – because Rafinha would most likely shoot down anything he tried to say as a lie. Additionally, this _was_ a brothel and there was some undeniable truth in that. But none of the workers worked there against their will – except maybe Neymar – and Neymar had grown to know and befriend many of them, and with the company of Marcos and occasionally Pocho or Karina, Neymar’s small bar felt almost homely.

 

Just as Neymar thought all hope was lost, a commotion could be heard upstairs. Loud voices and items crashing on the floor.

 

“What’s happening?” Rafinha asked, stepping closer to him.

 

“Probably a customer who tried to go too far with one of the workers.”

 

“Probably?” Rafinha looked at him accusingly. “That’s a common occurrence isn’t it?”

 

Neymar opened his mouth to answer but Rafinha cut him off angrily.

 

“And no one’s doing anything right? Who’d want to mess with the mafia’s things uh?”

 

Neymar observed his friend, his tense jaw and angry eyes, and maybe there was some fear in them. Neymar saw himself the first time he’d been met with one of these _incidents_ , unsure of whether he was supposed to intervene and risk angering the mafia or if he should pretend he hadn’t seen anything and not make any noises.

 

“Rafinha,” he said softly. “Pay attention to what’s happening. I swear this isn’t that kind of place.”

 

Rafinha didn’t look convinced but he reluctantly obeyed, looking up at the stairs. The noises were getting nearer, now mostly made up of loud shouting. Neymar recognized some of the words spoken as insults and others as apologies. Many prostitutes had exited their rooms and were lined up in the corridor, watching what they liked called _the walk of shame_.

 

Finally, at the top of the stairs two figures appeared. One was Ter Stegen – tall, blonde, imposing, rather handsome in a white t-shirt that did a good job at showing off his assets. The other was a man with no pants on, face completely red and held up in the air by the collar of his shirt. He was obviously struggling to breathe, his feet barely scraping the ground and his hands uselessly trying to dislodge _El Alem_ _á_ _n_ ’s grip on his shirt.

 

Neymar felt how the tension in Rafinha’s body slowly dissipated to make way for confusion. His eyes were now riveted on Ter Stegen as he dragged the man down the stairs, his dick bobbing up and down painfully with each steps. Their descent was followed by the whoops and jeers of the prostitutes.

 

“It’s not a bad place,” Neymar whispered in Rafinha’s ear. “I mean, there are many bad people here but none of the prostitutes are forced to do anything. They’re safe here, you know?”

 

Rafinha glanced at him briefly but stayed silent.

 

“Ter- Marc!” Neymar called as he passed in front of the counter. “What happened this time?”

 

Ter Stegen diligently stopped. “ _Señor_ tried something new without asking Sergi first. Everything is back in order now, I just need to remind _Señor_ of the rules.”

 

“Is Sergi fine?”

 

“It seems he is merely nonplussed. Thankfully, he had time to ring the bell before _Señor_ could go too far. Now if you’ll excuse me, I will escort _S_ _eñor_ outside.”

 

Neymar acquiesced and _El Alem_ _á_ _n_ resumed his travel to the door.

 

“See,” Neymar turned to Rafinha with a smile on his face. Surely _this_ would have helped change his friend’s mind.

 

Rafinha didn’t bother looking at him, his eyes riveted on the door where the two had gone.

 

“If I understand correctly, those are the good guys?”

 

“Yeah!” Neymar nodded enthusiastically. Then he amended. “Mostly. They’re not pimps at least?”

 

Rafinha hummed pensively.

 

“Alright then, here’s a question for you. Blondie”, Rafinha said, pointing to the door. “Is he gay?”

 

“Is he- what?”

 

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter. Is he single?”

 

“What? What the hell Rafa!”

 

Rafinha ignored him and, to Neymar’s great dismay, made his way to the door.

 

“That’s it?” Neymar called. “You’re not worried anymore?”

 

“You said you were fine. Nothing’s stopping me from following this hot piece of ass.”

 

“ _Filho da puta_! Is that it, you’re dropping me like that? What happened to bros before hoes?” he called desperately after him.

 

“ _Y_ _ou_ are the hoe,” Rafinha shouted before going through the door.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar knew Rafinha would come back soon enough, once he was done seducing Ter Stegen’s unsuspecting soul. And he was proved right when barely half an hour later, the two of them entered the place again, Rafinha already hanging onto _El Alem_ _á_ _n_ ’s arm.

 

And once here, _o irony_ , he refused to leave, insisting that he’d stay here until Neymar was done and he couldn’t let him alone here, no matter how much Neymar told him he was safe and him and his two brain cells didn’t need protection, thank you very much.

 

He was of course not helped by Marcos’s presence at his sides and the fact he’d apparently decided to be an asshole and had fun telling Rafinha the most horrible things about this place he could think of. And because Marcos was tall and _generally_ stronger than him, there was nothing much Neymar could do besides step on his toes.

 

In the end, he had no choice but to beckon Ter Stegen over to ask him to repeat exactly what Neymar had been trying to tell Rafinha for over an hour. Needless to say, Rafinha suddenly thought everything made perfect sense and that _of course_ he’d let Neymar do his work on his own, he knew he’d be fine if there was such a strong gentleman around to help him. Cue a charming Brazilian smile and a low German chuckle.

 

“Disgusting,” Neymar muttered.

 

“Moreover,” Ter Stegen added, “the streets aren’t safe after midnight around here. I wouldn’t want something to happen to Neymar’s dear friend.”

 

That made Rafa frown, and point at Neymar. “What about-”

 

“Oh don’t worry,” Marcos butted in. “He’s got a _Prince Charming._ He’ll be just fine.”

 

This was said with the biggest of grins and Neymar was most definitely not embarrassed. It was true that, for the last week or so, Messi had kept to his words and he’d came every night to walk him home. Neymar spent the short walk regaling him with tales of his childhood and teenage years, enjoying the moments where Messi seemed carefree which, he felt, like happened more and more.

 

Neymar cleared his throat when he realized everyone was looking at him, and that there was a chance his giddiness had been showing.

 

“Yeah I’m fine. We’ll talk later,” he told Rafinha.

 

“Oh, you do have _a lot_ of explaining to do,” Rafinha said, leveling him with a heavy stare.

 

Of course, before leaving he didn’t forget to smile seductively at his new prey, batting his eyelashes prettily.

 

“Good bye then,” Rafinha told _El Alem_ _á_ _n_.

 

This one emitted strong _good guy_ vibes and smiled brightly when he answered, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Rafael.”

 

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Rafinha drawled. Then glared at Neymar’s fake retching sounds. “Go to hell asshole.”

 

“After you,” Neymar bit back, gesturing towards the door.

 

A few minutes after Rafinha’s departure, Neymar received a text.

 

_give me blondies number_

 

Neymar sent back a short _fuck you_ , accompanied by the most disgusting picture of an anal prolapse he could find.

 

When Rafinha sent back a short _ur disgusting_ a few minutes later, he felt pretty satisfied with himself.

 

 

–

 

 

At 5:30, Messi entered the scene, punctual as ever.

 

“Hey,” Neymar greeted, receiving a nod in answer. He waved goodbye to Marcos and followed Messi outside.

 

When the cold night air hit his skin, Neymar felt very impressed with Messi wearing nothing more than a black t-shirt – pink tattoos showing bright on his skin. Neymar found that as long as the suffering Jesus on his biceps was hidden away, Messi’s arm looked pretty nice. Objectively.

 

“Man, tonight sure was special,” Neymar started on his usual rant. There was no point waiting for Messi to speak up. “I mean really, first Rafinha ca-- oh wait! I’m just remembering. Um, you do intend on walking me home every night right?” he glanced hesitantly at Messi, who simply nodded. “Why don’t you come earlier sometimes, then? You know, hang out at Uranus. You get free drinks.”

 

Messi seemed to hesitate before he answered.

 

“I don’t like this place much.”

 

Neymar frowned. “Uranus? Why?”

 

 _Why don’t you like your anus, what has it down to you_ , a small voice in his head said, and Neymar chastised this small voice, then chastised his lips for trying to split into a smile at such an inappropriate moment. Damn whoever had found the name for that brothel.

 

“I just don’t.”

 

“Uh…” Clearly, Messi didn’t want to talk about it. _Ah Sasuke when will you open up to me_. “But it could be fun! Everyone’s tired after four, it’s pretty quiet.We’d keep each other company, and if you’re tired you can even nap in one of the free room.”

 

Messi side-eyed him heavily. “You’re pretty stubborn aren’t you? I said I don’t like that place.”

 

“Right. Sorry.” Neymar looked down, feeling dejected. He cleared his throat, trying not to look too sad and disappointed. “Your loss then!” he tried to say enthusiastically.

 

That made Messi frown unhappily. Neymar looked down again, feeling like a kid being chastised.

 

After a few seconds, Messi finally sighed.

 

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

 

Neymar’s head shot up and he rewarded Messi with the biggest, happiest smile he could muster. Messi quickly looked away, scratching his own cheek.

 

“By the way,” he said. “You called me Messi, before.”

 

“Affirmative.”

 

“You could call me by my name you know.”

 

This Neymar hadn’t expected. He could do nothing more than open and close his mouth in shock.

 

“What?” Messi said defensively.

 

“I just.”

 

“Don’t you know my name?”

 

Neymar blinked several times.

 

“Don’t _you_ know my name?” Messi repeated, seemingly irked.

 

“Lionel,” Neymar blurted out.

 

“Leo.”

 

“Lionel,” Neymar corrected. He _did_ know his name. Wasn’t going to fall for such an easy trap.

 

“Call me Leo. Everyone does.”

 

“Actually,” Neymar said, “most people I’ve met call you Messi.”

 

“Yeah but **-** ” Messi trailed off, caressing his own chin repeatedly. “ _You_ can call me Leo.”

 

Did Neymar dream the emphasize on the you? Because he certainly wasn’t dreaming how his heart was beating a bit faster and he felt warm all over.

 

“Leo,” he said. He immediately liked the name. It rolled much more nicely than Messi on his tongue. “Say _Leo_ , can I ask you a question?”

 

“You’re going to either way. Go ahead.”

 

“Um,” Neymar bit his lips. “Are you- I mean are we--” he pointed from himself to Leo several times. “This. Are we becoming friends? Possibly?”

 

Messi didn’t answer.

 

“Leo?” he probed, and man did he love saying that name already.

 

“That,” Messi seemed to be carefully avoiding looking at him. “Where the hell did it come from? I can’t answer something like that.”

 

“So we are right?”

 

“Don’t ask this kind of things, idiot.”

 

And maybe this was just Neymar dreaming, but he thought Messi’s ears looked a bit red in the night. It was alright though, because had Neymar had a clearer skin, he’d probably be red from head to toes. As it was, his cheeks may have been darker than usual but the night was there to conceal them.

 

Not even the night was enough to hide his blooming smile and the glee in his eyes though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> du-duh. Also, I've realized maybe the few non-english words I use might not be understood by everyone? El Aleman is catalan and means the german. As for the german words - hallo means hello, auf wiedersehen means good bye, and mein Engel means my angel. Uh, lindo means beautiful/pretty. And I think that's it? I'm too tired to do this correctly, but tell me if there's something you don't understand.  
> Also I'm deeply sorry if you've never read Naruto and is getting annoyed with all these references, I can't help myself.


	4. don't upset him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **chapter warning** : rape attempt, off-screen violence
> 
>  
> 
> does offscreen violence even makes sense in the context of a fic? Oh well. Mind the warnings - there is a rape attempt but rest assured that is nothing more than an attempt.

Everyday, Neymar found a new reason to believe in God, to believe there was a well-intentioned force above him that made his wishes come true.

 

There was no other explanation as to why, a bit after 4 am, a new customer entered the bar and this was none other than his new buddy: super small mafia ninja Lionel Messi. Which Neymar now privately – and publicly! - referred to as _Leo_.

 

He dropped everything, watching like a kid in front of the Christmas Tree as Leo made his way to his bar. He didn’t miss the way he glanced at the room, the distaste in his eyes and the determined way he did not spare a glance for the customers after that. He didn’t miss it but nothing could tamper his joy.

 

Leo chose a seat on the left and sat down, resting both his hands on the countertop.

 

“You came,” Neymar said, a smile on his face that he couldn’t get rid of, and if there weren’t visible stars in his eyes at this moment then animes had been lying to him his whole life. “You really came!”

 

“I said I would, no? It’s nothing.”

 

“It’s a lot!” Neymar was too ecstatic to keep still, and he seized Leo’s hands on the counter, holding them adoringly despite Leo’s flinch. “ _Buddy.”_

 

“Weirdo,” Leo countered, freeing his hands from his grasp.

 

“But really, thanks for coming.” He gave Leo a genuine smile.

 

Leo shrugged, determinedly looking away from him.

 

“What do you want? I can make you any drink,” Neymar boasted. Then amended, “Except the one I cannot make.”

 

“Just a coffee.”

 

“A coffee?” Neymar repeated, a bit disappointed. “You sure?”

 

“I’m sure.”

 

“Alright then.” Neymar’s shoulder sagged and he set on making a boring _coffee_.

 

His back was turned and alas, he didn’t see Pocho coming, was only aware of his presence when something was whispered into his ears, “ _Never turn your back to me_.”

 

Neymar _almost_ screamed.

 

“Pocho!” he protested when he identified the man laughing in front of him.

 

“Sorry _l_ _indo_ , I couldn’t resist.”

 

“God.” Neymar closed his eyes, working on slowing down his heartbeat.

 

“Hey Lio,” he heard Pocho say. “It’s so rare to see you there.”

 

“I don’t like this place much.”

 

Neymar opened his eyes, looking curiously at the two men interacting.

 

“Maybe you don’t,” Pocho answered. “But this place likes you. And hey, you still haven’t taken me up on my offer!”

 

Leo snorted. “You know I’ll never.”

 

“It’d do you some good though.”

 

“What offer?” Neymar butted in, too curious to stay quiet.

 

“What do you think I have to offer _lindo_?” Pocho replied with a  flirtatioussmile.

 

“Right. Sorry I asked.”

 

“Still though!” Pocho turned back to Leo. “The three of you could drop by more often, everyone’s grateful to you for building this place-”

 

“I didn’t.” Leo cut in, a hard edge to his voice. “I didn’t build this place. This was Masche’s idea. If me and Kun had our ways we’d have--” He trailed off. “Whatever,” he finally said, his brows furrowed in annoyance.

 

The silence that followed was pretty tense, and Neymar had the distinct feeling he was missing something.

 

Luckily, Pocho was there to make things less awkward.

 

“Well then, you’ll tell your boss I’ll blow him whenever.”

 

At least less awkward by his own standards.

 

Leo lost his contrite expression. “I think he knows. You made it very clear the last time you came by.”

 

“And yet,” Pocho lamented dramatically, “I haven’t seen either of his bald heads since.”

 

Neymar openly giggled when Pocho’s words sunk in, and he was still laughing when Pocho winked at them and sashayed away a minute later. Leo didn’t seem offended on Mascherano’s behalf though, stirring his coffee while he watched Neymar laugh like a dying whale.

 

Neymar slowly calmed down and focused on Leo sipping calmly on his coffee.

 

“How is it?”

 

“Hm?” Leo tilted his head.

 

“The coffee. How is it?”

 

Leo shrugged. “It’s ok.”

 

“Ok,” Neymar repeated, watching Leo take another sip. “Ok ‘ _I guess piss would taste worse’_ or ok ‘ _wow this is so good I feel like_ _smiling_ _’_?”

 

The corners of Leo’s lips stretched and he repeated, “Ok.”

 

He should have seen it coming.

 

“You’re allergic to compliments aren’t you.”

 

Leo sat back in his seat, his face conveying a loud _‘really?’_.

 

“Look at Pocho,” Neymar insisted. “He calls me _lindo_. Why don’t _you_ call me _lindo_?”

 

“I have never and I will never call anyone _lindo_.”

 

“ _Cari_ _ñ_ _o_?”

 

“No.”

 

“ _Mi amigo_?”

 

“No.”

 

“Can I at least get a dude?”

 

Leo deliberately took a slow sip from his coffee before he answered, “No.”

 

Neymar sighed. “Call me Ney at least.”

 

He expected Leo to refuse again, and was surprised when he stilled. He looked down, putting his coffee back down and uselessly spinning it around before he mumbled, “I guess.”

 

Too bad Leo was looking down because Neymar was sure his smile was so big it’d have bleached his hair at once.

 

He spent the rest of the night chatting with Leo in between making cocktails and occasionally serving them. He used his free time to demonstrate his cocktail making skills. Leo barely made any comments, watching and nodding and sometimes saying _cool_ which, Neymar thought, was the epitome of compliments.

 

 

–

 

 

“Rafa,” Neymar said when he sat down next to his friend before classes started. “ _Rafa_. Guess who came by yesterday.”

 

“Your dick? Is it finally back from war?”

 

“Someone with herpes shouldn’t get to criticize other people-”

 

“It was _one time_.”

 

After the last time, Rafinha had, true to his words, demanded to be told everything, and Neymar had complied. From the loan and being dragged to _El_ _Jefecito_ ’s office to being mugged in the streets and walked home by a small-sized criminal.

 

This was such a relief to be able to tell everything to Rafinha, give him every details of his life like he was used to doing. Additionally, Rafinha was way less sour about lending him his notes now that he knew the truth. Which was good, because without them Neymar would be fucked. He was already pretty tired as it was, studying the week-end to catch up on these notes, showing up to classes only in the afternoon before working at night. The mid-terms would be there soon and Neymar had no idea how he would deal, and he was sure to fail if Rafinha wasn’t there for him.

 

“So what was the news anyway?” Rafinha asked once their joust was over.

 

“Leo. Leo dropped by yesterday.”

 

“Sasuke? I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”

 

“But he did. You know, despite being grumpy and all, he’s a really nice guy.”

 

“Yeah. The guy you owe money to and who makes you work for free is nice.”

 

“I don’t owe money to him, technically.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Anyway,” Neymar brushed him off. “He came by and I got his _number_.” He proudly showed off his phone. “We’re _friends_ now.”

 

“How unexpected of Sasuke.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And will he back earlier today too?”

 

“Uh I don’t know,” Neymar hesitated. “I didn’t ask.”

 

“Well ask him then. You have his number no?”

 

“Good call.”

 

Neymar typed the message carefully – by which he meant he re-read the text after sending it and lamented at the amount of emojis.

 

A few minutes later, Leo answered him. _Not tonight I have stg to do but next time_ _sure._

 

 _Cool,_ Neymar typed back. _Will I see u tonit?_

 

_dont ask stupid shit_

 

 

–

 

 

True to his words, Leo showed up the next day, a whole hour earlier than Neymar’s shift was due to end.

 

“You had _long hair_?  You\- _You had long hair?_ ”

 

“Yeah that’s what I said,” Leo mumbled.

 

“I can’t-- You need to show me a picture. Leo. I need to see.”

 

“No way.”

 

“You can’t tell me you had long hair and then not show me.”

 

Leo looked like he dearly regretted being there. “Why do I even tell you things,” he muttered.

 

“Because I’m irresistible. Come on Leo, show me the skater boy in you!”

 

Leo glared at him and that was all Neymar needed to burst out laughing, throwing his head back in laughter.

 

Really everything was going well. And it could have lasted until the end of the night, if the Englishman hadn’t decided to hit him up then.

 

“Ah Neymar, beautiful as ever.”

 

That cut Neymar’s giggle short, and he opened his eyes to meet the sadly well-known face of _the Englishman_.

 

Neymar cleared his throat and decided to act like a true professional, because Leo was there and it was sure to impress him.

 

“What can I do for you?”

 

“You could suck me off,” Barton said, a smile on his face. He noticed the change in Neymar’s expression and laughed, “I’m joking, I’ll just have a beer.”

 

“I’m going to spit in your beer,” Neymar muttered as he turned around to take a pint.

 

“Oh I’d _love it_ ,” the Englishman said and _way to ruin his fun_.

 

Neymar opted for slamming the pint down on the counter to convey his displeasure.

 

Barton took a sip, looking Neymar up and down – ogling him in a truly disgusting manner and this was especially uncomfortable given that Leo was right there. He was oddly quiet, and Neymar didn’t dare look at him.

 

“Hello there,” Barton said, turning to his right, speaking to _Leo_ and that was it, Neymar no longer believed in God. “You’re new right? A bit unfair isn’t it, you’ve been here two days and you’re already hogging Neymar’s time.”

 

“It’s my _friend_ ,” Neymar cut in, slamming both his hands on the countertop to look down at the Englishman. He still didn’t look at Leo’s reaction.

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind being your friend too,” Barton said, and his eyes drifted down, to Neymar’s white shirt and the small cleavage that Neymar had found very sexy back then but he kind of regretted now. “I’d just wish we could be more than that.”

 

“Pay for your beer already.”

 

Barton pouted. “Shouldn’t you treat customer better? Shouldn’t you do anything I ask you to?”

 

“Not here.”

 

“Yeah, not there,” the Englishman murmured. “But I’d give you as much as you want only for a night.” He glanced around. “Enough to repay your debt to the mafia.”

 

“How do you know-”

 

“I have my sources,” Barton said, smiling. “Come on, what do you say? Just a night with me, and you’re out of here forever.”

 

And Neymar had absolutely no intention of prostituting himself and even less so to _the Englishman_. He was getting along well with the people here, there was Marcos and this new friendship with Leo, but Neymar _was_ getting pretty tired of working every night and his mid-terms were coming soon.

 

It was just a moment before he shook out of it and got back to earth, only to see a wide, successful smile on Barton’s face.

 

Neymar’s brows furrowed. “What?”

 

“You’re considering it aren’t you.”

 

“ _No_.”

 

The Englishman smiled widely and paid for his beer without saying a word.

 

“I said no!” Neymar repeated, getting worked up. “I don’t want to go anywhere near your stupid ugly dick!”

 

“Of course darling.”

 

“Don’t call me darling!”

 

Barton caught his hand and placed kiss on top of it despite Neymar trying to draw it back. “As you wish, _darling_.”

 

“Will you both shut up already,” someone said, with much more poise and authority than Neymar could manage.

 

Dreadfully, he turned towards Leo, who looked _pissed_.

 

“Oh Sir, there is no need to-”

 

“Shut up,” Leo ordered in a voice that brooked no argument.

 

The Englishman, in a rare moment of lucidity, kept to himself and silently went back to his table.

 

Neymar let out a nervous laughter. “Annoying right? Sorry about that-”

 

“Are you actually considering it?” Leo asked, not even listening to his words, his face blank and eyes unblinking.

 

“What? Considering what?”

 

“ _Prostitution_.”

 

This was said with such distaste. Neymar didn’t think it was possibly to sound so scornful saying a single word, even more so considering where they were and who Leo was.

 

“Of course not! I just-- I was thinking.”

 

“There’s nothing to think about,” Leo muttered.

 

“Well I mean--” Neymar frowned, catching up to their conversation. “I have the right to think slowly! You can’t criticize me, you take forever to answer. If you answer at all,” Neymar bit back petulantly.

 

Leo had the decency to look chastised. He looked away, admitting defeat. “Alright, sorry,” he muttered.

 

Neymar nodded.

 

Leo waited a few seconds before looking back at him, questioning.

 

“Does it happen often?”

 

“What? Customers flirting with me?”

 

Leo nodded.

 

“Kinda I guess. I dunno.”

 

Leo frowned.

 

“The Englishman is the most annoying one though.”

 

“The Englishman?”

 

“Barton,” Neymar nodded to his table. “He’s annoying. Every time a foreigner walks into Uranus he’s all like, ‘let me help, I speak English, _the_ international language.’” Neymar slammed his fists down, worked up as he remembered the countless times it had happened. “I can speak English too! I’m fluent in Portuguese, Spanish, _and_ I can get around in English. I could fuck his mother in _Catalan_. I don’t need his ugly ass to help me with English,” he muttered.

 

Leo laughed at him, all the tension in his body fading off. “Alright, alright,” he said, a weak attempt to appease Neymar.

 

He watched, amused, as Neymar grumbled a bit more about fluency and fucking Englishman. After a while, Leo spoke up, a calm look in his eyes.

 

“I hate men like him,” he said.

 

“People who think they speak English better than you? Yeah _me too_.”

 

“No I meant-- Men like him. The way he tried to buy you.”

 

“Ah.” That was another thing. “It’s kind of… the business here, though?”

 

“I know,” Leo replied. “That’s why I hate this place.”

 

Neymar didn’t really have anything to say to that.

 

“You’re more dramatic than I thought you’d be,” he let out before he had the time to think twice about it. Then he did and hid his face in his hands in shame.

 

Instead of getting angry, Leo shook his head and a soft smile graced his lips. “You really don’t know your place do you.” Before Neymar could answer, he went on, “Now, tell me about _your_ childhood haircut.”

 

 

–

 

 

“Your guy is a weirdo.”

 

“It’s not my guy. And he’s just different alright.”

 

“And by different I expect you mean he’s a fucking psycho.”

 

“You don’t even know him.”

 

“No but I know you, and you attract weirdos.”

 

“I know,” Neymar sighed. “I mean look at _you_.”

 

 

–

 

 

Leo came back the day after before Neymar even got here. Neymar had barely arrived and here Leo was, sitting on a stool with a frown on his face.

 

“Do you ever stop frowning?” Neymar greeted. “Why are you so early?”

 

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

 

How many times had Leo told him that already. Neymar stared at Leo curiously as he set up his workplace but Leo refused to take the cue. He only budged to go to the restroom, and even then he waited until Marcos came by to chat.

 

As soon as Leo was out of sight, Marcos grinned and leaned in conspicuously.

 

“He’s trying to ward off your suitors.”

 

“What?” Neymar took in his words then repeated, “What?”

 

“That’s why he’s so early, because of the Englishman. He wants to protect your virtue.”

 

“That’s nonsense! It’s just-- a coincidence.”

 

“ _Aaaaw_.” Marcos reached for his cheeks and pinched them. “Prince Charming is after your ass~~”

 

 

–

 

 

“I agree,” Rafinha said.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“You should start going to the beautician to get ready for the big night.”

 

“I told you to shut up!”

 

“Come on, Sasuke _obviously_ needs to get laid-”

 

Neymar threw a pillow at his face.

 

 

–

 

 

Leo came almost everyday. A lot of times, he came before midnight, early into the night and those were Neymar’s favorite nights. Other times he came late, said he’d had business without ever giving any details.

 

Then, Leo’s friend started coming too.

 

Neymar did feel a bit scared when the tall bearded man loomed over him with a smile.

 

“It’s been a few weeks, Neymar,” tall bearded man said. _Pique_ , his brain supplied. “I hear you’re hogging my friend all to yourself?”

 

“That’s because you’re scary as shit, he doesn’t want you anymore,” Neymar bit back before he had time to think about it. Then he thought about it and bemoaned his fate and his bad impulse control and apologized to his mom who’d prayed many times before that he’d learn to think before speaking but alas. _S_ _orry mom_.

 

Pique didn’t seem offended, bellowing with laughter instead. He reached for his ear and squeezed it, which was as weird as it could be. “So you’re Leo’s boyfriend uh?”

 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Leo protested at the same time Neymar spluttered, “I _am_?,” with shock.

 

“Sure, sure,” Pique said. “Anyway, I hear you can make decent drinks. How about you make me something? Give me your best.”

 

Neymar eyed him doubtfully. “It’ll be 10€.”

 

Pique laughed again, then reached for his ear – missed it, Neymar dodged. _Take that, asshole_.

 

“You know _I_ don’t have to pay.”

 

“You do,” Neymar said mournfully. Pique was tall, had guns hidden under his vest and, most of all, a _beard_ , looking over all pretty threatening but Leo would protect him, probably.

 

He only stood his ground until Pique pushed his head down under the faucet, laughing madly. Leo, it was worth to be noted, did _not_ defend him.

 

 

–

 

 

“Are you his boyfriend?”

 

“Dude, this isn’t a movie.”

 

“No it’s isn’t, if it was you’d be smarter than this.” Rafinha bit back. “So, are you?”

 

“Of course not, you fucktard.”

 

Later, he drew little dicks all over Rafinha’s sleeping face.

 

 

–

 

 

“What do I see?” was the first thing Marcos said when he saw him. “You, alone? Could it be Prince Charming ran away with the dragon?”

 

“ _Ar ar_ ,” Neymar laughed dryly. “He’ll come by later.”

 

“Are you sure of that? He’s probably tired of you already. He might have found a younger, prettier twink to take care of.”

 

“A twi- I’m not a twink!”

 

“Whatever you say.”

 

Neymar huffed. “Leo said he was needed tonight, and that he’ll be there as soon as he was done.”

 

“Needed um?” Marcos looked pensive. “There has indeed been some Italian gangs fucking shit up lately… Don’t you wonder what he’s busy doing?”

 

“I’d rather not know.” He’d seen Leo fight once and that had been impressive but it was more than enough.

 

The evening went by smoothly, though Neymar found he kind of missed Leo’s presence at the bar, someone he could ramble to and who was an easy distraction. Maybe this was Neymar being weird, but to have someone who listened, watched and approved made him feel good. It wasn’t too bad, the joy he felt when _finally_ Leo laughed at one of his jokes. Made trying worth it.

 

Also, Neymar really did like Leo’s arm tattoo and the muscles under it. As long as Jesus was hidden away.

 

One thing was made clear by Leo’s absence, it was that his presence was usually enough to ward off flirtatious customers because suddenly they came from everywhere.

 

“You’re a real gem Neymar” the Englishman said, his voice a bit slurred after his third shot of vodka. “So-- exotic.”

 

“Exotic,” Neymar repeated dryly.

 

“Like an animal.” There was a glint in the man’s eyes that looked almost feral. “I want to tame you and expose you like a trophy.”

 

This shocked Neymar enough that it made him speechless. He’d never been called _exotic_ or compared to an animal before and he had to say he didn’t like it _at all_.

 

“I’d put a collar around your neck,” the Englishman went on, “and you’d sit by my side and go with me to parties. I’d parade you around like a trophy and everyone would be so jealous. Oh you wouldn’t be having a bad life Neymar, I’d provide for you-”

 

“Not a bad life? Being treated like a thing and an animal isn’t _bad_?” Neymar asked, bewildered.

 

“I want you so bad,” the man bemoaned, ignoring his outrage.

 

“Listen here _filho da puta_ -” Neymar spat. “What the hell is your issue uh? I’m not your fucking whore _porra_ , and you son of a bitch can go eat a dick and fucking choke on it or I”ll-”

 

The Englishman lifted his hands in surrender. “I got it, I got it, I’ll go away. But anger looks good on you darling. You sound like Brazil you’re so-”

 

“If you say _exotic_ one more time I swear to god-”

 

Barton went away before Neymar could swear to kick his ass, which was a good thing because he wouldn’t have been able to keep that promise.

 

 

–

 

 

One hour and a half later, and there was still no trace of Leo. Neymar wasn’t _disappointed_ , nor was he looking longingly toward the door every two minutes, no matter how many times Marcos insisted he did.

 

“Why are you wriggling around like that,” Marcos asked, leaning on the counter.

 

“I’m not.”

 

“You are. You’ve been moving from one feet to another for the past half-hour.”

 

“My legs are a bit stiff, I need to move them you know?”

 

Marcos snorted. “You need to _pee_. Go to the toilets already.”

 

“I do not. I’m fine, I’m perfectly fine.”

 

“You aren’t. You’ve been holding back for an hour already. If you go on like that, you’re going to pee yourself right when Messi comes in.”

 

“I wont,” Neymar protested, then considered it. Not that he was actually holding it in not to miss Leo’s arrival, but still, Marcos had a good point.

 

“Ok” he said, before making a beeline for the restroom, Marco’s laughter following his steps.

 

He let out a happy sigh as he finally stopped holding back and peed to his heart’s content. _Fuck_ did that feel good.

 

He was shaking the last drop out of his little buddy when two hands grabbed his hips.

 

“You’re smaller than I thought you’d be Ney,” a voice said.

 

“Holy fuck-” Neymar whipped around, “-ing god for god’s sake what the fuck,” he finished, staring into the face of none other than the Englishman.

 

“What the hell?” he yelled, his heartbeat still crazy from the recent scare. He hurriedly zipped himself back in.

 

“Neymar,” the man said. “ _Ney_ ,” his eyes were half-lidded and clouded over. “I hired Brazilian prostitutes last night but none had eyes as pretty as yours.”

 

He reached towards his face but Neymar batted his hand away.

 

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed. He glanced at the door, behind Barton’s back. “Step away from me,” he ordered.

 

Instead of obeying him, Barton stepped closer, until only inches separated them and Neymar was already backed against the wall.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Neymar,” he said dreamily. He tried to reach out again, but Neymar dodged. Barton inhaled deeply. “You smell so good. You smell like _sex_.”

 

Gross.

 

“Step. The fuck. Away,” Neymar repeated.

 

“I want you Neymar.”

 

“And I want you to fuck off.”

 

“I’ll tame you,” the Englishman said, his voice so low Neymar wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. But the way Barton looked at him left no room for doubt.

 

Fuck.

 

Neymar glanced at the door again and acted quickly, throwing his fist to punch the ugly out of Barton’s face.

 

His fist connected, and Neymar hissed. He’d never really been in a fight and hadn’t had the occasion to punch anyone, and he hadn’t expected it to hurt _him_.

 

“Oh darling,” the Englishman said, lip split but otherwise unbothered by Neymar’s punch. “You’re so fiery. I love it.”

 

Neymar didn’t like what was happening. He didn’t like it at all.

 

He kicked Barton’s shin and readied a second punch, to hell with the pain, but before he could do anything Barton grabbed his outstretched armand twisted it. He twisted it so much Neymar had no other choice than to turn around, and Barton slammed him face first against the wall.

 

 _Shit_.

 

“Ney,” Barton moaned, right into his ear. _Too close._ He pressed himself against his back and there was something hard prodding his lower back.

 

“Let me go,” Neymar breathed heavily. “ _Let me go_.”

 

Barton thrust right against his ass and sighed with pleasure into his ear.

 

Gross. _Gross, gross, gross._ Neymar closed his eyes, feeling the cool tiles against his cheeks. He tensed up, tried to fight, tried to move his arm and kick back. He tried everything but to no avail and Barton thrust up once again. Neymar felt sick.

 

The Englishman panted into his ear, moaning his name as he rolled his hips against him. His fingers were sweaty against his arm, and he reeked of sweat and alcohol. _The pig, the fucking pig_.

 

He felt a hand slip under his shirt, running up his back, caressing his sides, gently, softly, like he had any right to, like Neymar wasn’t flinching away from his touch.

 

He should fight. He should fight, even if Barton had twisted his arm so bad it was close to breaking, he should go for it, snap his bones in half and fight and scream and struggle. He should be stronger than this.

 

Barton hummed appreciatively when his fingers trailed along his abs, and Neymar wanted to tell him, _this isn’t for you, this isn’t why I try,_ _t_ _his isn’t for you_.

 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he spat.

 

“ _Shhh_ ,” was the only answer he got, and Neymar felt his throat clog up. “I won’t hurt you darling I promise.”

 

“You bastard,” Neymar said through gritted teeth. He clenched his eyes and bit the inside of his mouth until he drew blood, feeling like a pathetic rag doll, body shaking with every thrust as Barton rubbed his crotch against him. A hand was traveling up his chest like it owned it and it reached his nipple, rubbing it, twisting it, playing with it.

 

Neymar couldn't hold back a choked sob.

 

" _Please_."

 

Barton rubbed his nose along his jaw and licked a fat stripe all over his cheek. The scent of vodka was so strong it was nauseating.

 

Barton moaned. “Ney-” There was a click and everything stilled. Barton had stopped breathing.

 

Seconds went by.

 

When Barton exhaled again, his voice was shaky and careful.

 

“What do you want from me?”

 

He sounded apprehensive. Neymar didn’t dare open his eyes.

 

“Let him go.”

 

 _Leo_.

 

“Leo,” Neymar sobbed. The relief washing over him was so strong his legs almost gave out.

 

Barton let him go, slowly, carefully. “Alright,” he said. “We were just playing around.”

 

Neymar didn’t dare move from the walls even when he was freed. He kept his eyes closed and rested his forehead against the cold tiles. He listened.

 

“I wasn’t going to do anything to him. And he was alright with it, weren’t you, Ney? Ney-”

 

And then a detonation. A noise so loud it made him flinch, and he clenched his eyes even harder when he heard a pained, ear-splitting cry.

 

He knew there was blood, he could smell it. He didn’t want to open his eyes.

 

Another shot, another scream. The Englishman begging for mercy. The door opening, people talking loudly, wondering what had happened then silence, apart from the Englishman, crying.

 

Leo’s voice, curt, “Call Gerard.”

 

Steps, pained sobs slowly fading away. The door slamming shut after their exit. Distant noise, distant struggle. Silence.

 

He took a deep breath in.

 

“Neymar?” a voice called his name carefully.

 

He thought he’d been alone.

 

“Pocho?” he asked, slowly turning around. He was faced with Pocho and the worried, careful look on his face.

 

He was dressed, even if his shirt had riled a bit up his stomach. He had no visible bruises, none of his clothes were off. There was nothing that could give away what had _almost_ happened, and yet from Pocho’s face it was obvious he knew. Maybe it was written all over Neymar’s face, in his fearful eyes and the tears running down his face.

 

Damn his face.

 

He rubbed his eyes vigorously, wanting that pity off his face.

 

“Are you alright _lindo_?”

 

Neymar nodded, rubbing his eyes but the tears wouldn’t stop falling, and he wasn’t sure whether it was out of fear or out of relief. Pocho wrapped his arms around his shoulders and Neymar welcomes the embrace gladly, burying his wet face in the crook of his neck.

 

“There there,” Pocho said, rubbing his back soothingly despite Neymar putting snort all over his skin.

 

Neymar liked Pocho’s hand and his soothing voice and the way he called him _lindo_. His voice was soft like that of his sister, when they were kids and she comforted him after Neymar had insisted they watch another horror movie.

 

When his tears finally dried up, he let go of Pocho, looking apologetically at the sore mess he’d done to his shirt.

 

“Where did Leo go?” was the first thing he asked.

 

There was blood on the floor, and Neymar had heard two shots, but he knew the Englishman was still alive. He didn’t really care, he didn’t really want to know.

 

“He left, I think. He’ll take care of everything.”

 

Neymar went for a smile. “He must have thought, _‘damn_ _isn’t this the longest leak he’s ever taken’_ _._ ”

 

Pocho didn’t smile, which Neymar resented. He’d been weak and he was shit-scared and he’d appreciate it if he made an effort. He’ll get nightmares, he’ll throw up and scrub his skin until it bled, he’ll postpone the drama so if Pocho could _please_ play along.

 

Pocho escorted him to the backroom, making him sit on a chair and draping a blanket over his shoulders, like he was in _shock_. He also gave him a hot chocolate, which at least Neymar was thankful for.

 

Pocho left and Marcos took his place, entering the room with quick steps and a sour face.

 

“You okay?” he asked.

 

Neymar nodded.

 

“Marc will stand in for you, you should go home.”

 

Neymar frowned. “It’s fine, I can work.”

 

“Yeah, no.”

 

His brows furrowed further. “Really I can.”

 

“Your hands are shaking.”

 

Neymar looked down, and indeed they were. Screw his hands.

 

“Screw my hands.”

 

“That’s not helpful.” Marcos took a few steps forward and sat down next to him. Neymar enjoyed the casual way their sides touched.

 

“Is-” Neymar hesitated. “Will Leo be back?”

 

“No.”

 

“Why? Is he angry?” Neymar inquired anxiously.

 

Marcos frowned. “Yes, but not at you.”

 

Neymar had no idea where this relief came from.

 

“I guess I’ll go home then.”

 

“Right now? You’re not going alone.”

 

“It’s fine. I already got mugged once. Can’t happen twice in the same night.”

 

“You said that before and once again, this isn’t a logic by any standards. Pique will be by in a few, he’ll walk you home.”

 

“Uh?” Neymar frowned, looking up at Marcos. Why would Pique walk him home?

 

“Leo told him to.”

 

“Couldn’t he do it himself?” Neymar asked. He didn’t need _Pique_ to walk him home.

 

Marcos hesitated. “I think he’s too upset to be around anyone right now.”

 

“What about me? Am I not upset? Don’t I have a say-- couldn’t he have told me?”

 

“Hey,” Marcos said calmly, sliding an arm around his shoulder. “You’ll see him later, and you can insult him as much as you want then.”

 

“Good,” Neymar nodded. He didn’t even know why he suddenly felt so annoyed at Leo, when he’d saved him. He’d saved him and yet all Neymar could think about was that he wasn’t _there_. Neymar had waited a whole night for him.

 

Marcos kept quiet for a few minutes.

 

“Hey Ney. You know, when you asked about why this place existed? Why the mafia kept it?”

 

Neymar nodded, puzzled at the change of topic.

 

“I never did get to tell you the whole story.” He glanced at him. “I know, I know, this seems unrelated but I think now might be a good time. Maybe it’ll help you understand a few things.”

 

Neymar eyed him curiously.

 

“It’s a long story,” Marcos warned.

 

“I need to wait for my bodyguard anyway.”

 

Marcos smiled. “Alright then. Don’t interrupt me.”

 

“I’ll try.”

 

“I don’t think there’s any other way to start than from the beginning. According to some people in Buenos Aires, Mascherano, Messi and Aguëro were all born in a brothel.” He paused. “Or so I’ve heard.”

 

Neymar let his words sink in.

 

“In a brothel. You mean-”

 

“That their moms were whores, yes. It wasn’t a place like this one, more like your typical brothel, unsanitary building, working nonstop, and pimps to control the whole thing. They were raised by the prostitutes there, and grew up watching them die one by one, dying in labor, dying from STDs, dying from common diseases and malnutrition, or dying under the fists of their pimps. I’ve been told their mothers died in that brothel though I have no idea how. All I know is that they grew up together, the three of them like brothers, and that when Mascherano was 16 he burned down the whole place.”

 

“What?” Neymar cut him, startled.

 

“What did I say about cutting me?” Marcos chastised him gently. “Messi and Agüero should have been 13 back then. I don’t have the details, I just know they burned down the building, and that everyone died in that fire. And then they fled the country and came to Barcelona. A few years later, Mascherano started making a name for himself in the lower parts of the town, and when he was 20, the three of them took over the city. And the first thing they did was build this place.”

 

Marcos stopped, allowing Neymar to digest his words and connect the dots by himself.

 

“So they built this place not for the profit, but because they genuinely hate people who abuse prostitutes? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

 

“Those are the things I’ve heard when I was in Argentina.”

 

“But--” it could explain why Leo had said he hated men like the Englishman but then why would he also hate this place? “Leo hates this place.”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t have any answer for that. There are some things that even rumors don’t say.”

 

Neymar looked down at the mug in his hands. Things made sense and then they didn’t. Should he consider Mascherano was a good man? Should he feel guilty for making Leo remember his childhood? Shouldn’t Leo think highly of Uranus or did he hate people who willingly prostituted themselves? Nothing made sense.

 

Marcos sat by his sides in silence while Neymar thought things over, trying to understand Leo’s character and ending up even more confused. He briefly tried to imagine a young Leo with long hair playing football in a brothel and it made his heart sting. He immediately stopped.

 

Soon enough, his assigned bodyguard arrived and Marcos ruffled his hair before getting back to his own duty.

 

“I don’t need to be walked home,” Neymar protested when Pique finally showed up.

 

“Whatever you say. I got orders to follow you.”

 

 _Orders_. From Leo, he guessed. If he worried that much about him getting home safe, then couldn’t he come here himself?  If he had the time to think about him while being this upset, then surely he could spare some minutes to make sure he was alright.

 

Neymar bit his lips. It wasn’t like him to be this selfish.

 

The walk was silent, and Neymar didn’t speak up until they stopped in front of his dormitory.

 

“Will Leo be there tomorrow?”

 

Pique looked sympathetic. “I don’t know. But you don’t have to come to work tomorrow.” When Neymar frowned, Pique added. “Masche knows, it’s ok. Don’t worry about work and go to bed.”

 

What did Mascherano know? Would Mascherano, _El Jefecito_ , protect _him_ , a bad debtor, from sexual harassment because it was something he despised? Yet at the same time, he wouldn’t think twice about killing him if he ran away?

 

Shit. This was all too complicated. This was why there were post-it notes on his fridge **,** _not a kind-hearted savior._ And maybe not too bad a man either. Who the fuck knew.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar should have eaten before going to bed, this way he’d have had something besides bile to throw up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah I like writing light things, so this part wasn't much fun to write.  
> Anyway, you now have Sasuke backstory, soon to follow : he tries to kill his bff to achieve ultimate greatness.


	5. don't lie to him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter warnings.
> 
> Last chapter was rather heavy but this one shouldn't be so tough. I'd say it's fun even, except Neymar is a fool.  
> Ah also, I got back in college and it's busy, so I don't know when I'll find time to write. I hope I'll be able to update regularly - only three chapters left after all !

Leo didn’t come the following day.

 

Rafinha did though. His friend seemed to have a sixth sense for when Neymar absolutely didn’t want to see him but most likely needed it, because he showed up right after their afternoon classes – that Neymar had of course missed. _God_ , mid-terms were in three weeks, he shouldn’t be missing more classes than he already was.

 

And after that-- well there was no lying to Rafa to his face.

 

Afterward, they fought, Neymar trying to keep him from doing something reckless like setting Uranus on fire or calling the police or even worse, telling Dani.

 

Neymar had Rafinha in a headlock but his friend was also twisting his legs painfully.

 

“You can’t tell Dani shit-”

 

“-we both know I’m going to win this fight Ney give up already-”

 

“-it’s none of his concern, Dani would freak out and he’d try to punch everyone back into the womb-”

 

“-fucking right he would-”

 

“I don’t want Dani to be involved with the mafia!”

 

“I didn’t want you to get involved either, and look what you did,” Rafinha replied sarcastically, switching their position and holding Neymar down.

 

“It’s my own fault, I don’t want Dani to be in trouble!”

 

“He’ll be fine. Dani always finds a way. Or I can call the cops.”

 

“What the fuck would you call the cops for?” Neymar managed to go out from under Rafinha, kicking his belly and throwing himself on his back to pin him down.

 

“Maybe because it’s their jobs?” Rafinha promptly swung around before Neymar could rest his whole weight on him.

 

“I don’t even _know_ what happened to the guy. If I bring attention to the mafia, I’ll get in trouble-”

 

“Didn’t you say they’re all about protecting abuse victims? That’d be a real test-”

 

“Will you listen to me already-” Neymar yelped when Rafinha pulled his hair.

 

Their argument went back and forth for so long Neymar lost track of the time. All he knew was that at the end of their row, they were both panting hard, lying side by side on his bed, eyes on the ceiling.

 

“I hate that I wasn’t even here to help you,” Rafinha finally murmured.

 

What could you have done anyway?”

 

“I don’t know. I’d have been there, at least.”

 

Neymar huffed, but he couldn’t keep the corner of his lips from stretching a bit. Oh, did he love his friend.

 

“I see your ugly face enough as it is,” he replied softly. “Don’t need to see it any more.”

 

Rafinha turned his head to look at him. “I know you like to pretend nothing affects you but I’m not an idiot.”

 

Neymar kept staring at the ceiling.

 

Rafinha’s eyes were on him, drilling holes in the side of his face, but Neymar refused to look at him. Ultimately, Rafinha gave up, looking away.

 

Before rolling over and hovering over him.

 

“Uh-”

 

“Come on dumbass, it’s cuddle time.”

 

Neymar blinked. “No.”

 

Rafinha rolled his eyes, looking exasperated but when his gaze settled on him it was full of warmth and affection. That asshole, making him feel emotional.

 

And well, who was Neymar to refuse cuddle time anyway? It would require a man stronger than himself to resist snuggling against a warm body and clinging onto someone who you knew was safe.

 

 

–

 

 

He’d received a text from Marcos, _u can take tomorrow off too_.

 

 _Id rather not_ , Neymar typed back, _if I miss 1 day ill need 2 work more 2 pay bak my debt_.

 

_considering how much u owe 1 day is rly nothing..._

 

Neymar sent back angry emojis.

 

 _Thx but id rather go_ , he texted later. _Fo real._ He didn’t want to stay holed up in his room anyway; he hated being alone.

 

Marcos’s reply took some minutes. _As u wish then…_

 

Neymar hadn’t heard of Leo since that night, hadn’t received a text and hadn’t dared send one. He hoped Leo would be there when he came back to work, waiting on his usual stool, ready to order a coffee and bear with Neymar’s chatter for a few hours.

 

But when he arrived to Uranus, there was no trace of Leo.

 

Marcos smiled when he saw him.

 

“Don’t pity me.”

 

“Wow there,” Marcos lifted his hand to appease him. “I just smiled at you, dude.”

 

Neymar squinted. “You guys shouldn’t be allowed to smile. It’s _way_ too ambiguous.”

 

“Never thought you’d know such a complicated word.”

 

Neymar kicked his shin, and Marcos didn’t even pretend it hurt.

 

It took one full hour before Marcos dared mention what had happened.

 

“Do you not want to know what happened to the Englishman?”

 

“No.” Neymar blinked, then actually thought about it. He hadn’t wondered about it, not even a second. He knew Leo had taken care of it, that he would never be an issue again, and that was all he needed to know. “No,” he repeated, more firmly this time.

 

“Well if you’re ever curious,” Marcos said, leaning in secretly. “You just need to open yesterday’s newspaper.”

 

Neymar looked back at him. What did they do to the guy for it to end up on the _news_? He shook his head. He didn’t feel bad – wasn’t going to feel bad for this man. But he didn’t feel particularly happy either.

 

Marcos glanced at him. “It’s all over British TV,” he said. “They say it might be a _Brexit hate crime_.”

 

And really, there was no keeping his laughter in at that.

 

“Come on now, you’re making that up.”

 

Marcos grinned, that ambiguous grin of his that meant he could either be lying or getting off on people thinking he was lying. That is to say, Neymar had no idea whether he was joking or not.

 

Interacting with Marcos like that, fun and light like usual made Neymar feel significantly better, losing the tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He had _friends_ at Uranus. Good friends.

 

He had Leo too. Except Leo wasn’t here, that ass. Neymar dearly wanted to see him but he was nowhere to be seen, failing to show up early the day Neymar _really_ wanted him to.

 

It became such that Neymar even thought he’d have to walk back on his own – the thought was oddly depressing.

 

And yet when Neymar exited Uranus, defeated about having to walk back alone for the first time in months, he found Leo there, leaning against the wall.

 

Neymar stared at him for a second. Then huffed.

 

“So you’re finally showing your face uh.”

 

Leo’s mouth snapped shut when he sensed the hostility oozing off Neymar. He frowned.

 

Neymar stepped forward until he was in front of him, trying to loom over him as best as he could.

 

“You could have stayed with me.”

 

“I couldn’t,” Leo frowned. He dared seem confused, like he _truly_ didn’t think Neymar could have wanted him to stay. “I had things to take care of.”

 

“But I waited for you the whole night,” Neymar complained.

 

And Leo had reasons, of course he had. Maybe he truly hadn’t guessed because he overall sucked at people. Maybe when he’d seen the position Neymar was in, many memories had come back to the surface and it had overwhelmed him. If Marcos’s story was to be believed, then Leo had reasons to feel shaken, reasons to be angry, reasons to feel the need to cool down but _damn it_ , Neymar had wanted him to be there and he hadn’t been there.

 

Leo fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable with this conversation.

 

“I was angry,” he said. “You wouldn’t-- it wouldn’t have been good.”

 

“You could have sent a message then. To check on me, instead of sending your dogs to walk me home.”

 

Leo’s brows furrowed even more. He looked out of his depth.

 

“I’m not good at that,” he finally muttered.

 

Neymar squinted at him. “You know what you are?” he asked. “ _Emotionally_ _constipated_.”

 

Leo had clearly expected another answer because his head snapped up and he looked startled.

 

Neymar pinched his cheeks. “Every time you try to emote, it just gets stuck inside. You need to push Leo, you need to try harder! Otherwise you’ll get bowel obstruction.”

 

Leo looked a bit silly, with his cheeks stretched like that, and his eyes wide open.

 

“Thich-” Leo heard himself talk then batted Neymar’s hands away. “This is the worst metaphor I’ve ever heard.”

 

“The truest though,” Neymar countered. He gauged Leo’s face for a few seconds before adding, “Really, it’s your fault. You keep saving me, so now you should commit to the job. You need to be both Superman _and_ Clark Kent.”

 

Leo frowned, the comparison clearly lost on him. He seemingly decided to ignore it and shook his head, before clearing his throat. “I actually bought you something.”

 

“Something?” Neymar repeated curiously.

 

Leo nodded. He fished something out of his pocket, and pushed it into his hands. Neymar peered down curiously and was surprised to see a pocket knife.

 

He looked at Leo questioningly.

 

“Because you have a knack for getting in trouble,” he answered his silent question. “This way you can protect yourself.”

 

Neymar blinked and looked back down at the object in his hand. The knife in itself was a beautiful thing, a silver handle with gold designs swirling around it. Some of the drawings seemed to have faded a bit, and there were parts of the handle that felt smoother than the rest. It seemed like this wasn’t something new that Leo had bought in a random supermarket.

 

Neymar opened the knife and looked at the blade – it glinted under the streetligh. Neymar touched the tip with his fingertip-

 

“Ow,” he pulled back with a frown. The thing sure was sharp.

 

“So maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”

 

Neymar closed his hands around the knife defensively. “No it’s fine, I can handle it.”

 

Leo stared at him dubiously. He gauged Neymar’s protective grip on the knife and gave in.

 

“Alright then,” he sighed. “It’s an old knife, but it’s still pretty sharp.”

 

“Old?”

 

Leo nodded. “Masche gave it to me when I was younger.”

 

“Oh,” Neymar loosened his grip on the knife and pushed it back towards Leo. “I can’t take it then-”

 

“It’s fine,” Leo frowned, pushing his hands away. “He gave it to me so I could protect myself, but it’s not an issue anymore. You, on the other hand...”

 

Leo trailed off, and really, there was no need to say any more. Neymar looked back down, studying the gift once more. It didn’t feel right, to take something that had been Leo’s for so long. But the knife felt heavy, deadly and silent, a bit rough but the metal was warming up under the heat of his hands. It reminded him of Leo, somehow.

 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, a smile forming on his face. He lifted his head and repeated properly, “Thank you.”

 

And because this seemed like a good time for a hug, he threw his arms around Leo’s shoulders, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

 

He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. “You really are my Prince Charming after all,” he mumbled. And then giggled when he felt Leo’s skin warm up against his face.

 

“Shut up,” Leo muttered.

 

“I don’t want to use a knife though,” Neymar went on. “So you better be there when I’m in trouble. It’s your job now, don’t slack off!”

 

Leo sighed, but relaxed a bit under him. “I guess it is.”

 

Neymar giggled some more. He kept his eyes closed, enjoying this hug that he’d wanted and needed for two days already.

 

“Leo,” he called after what felt like a minute.

 

Leo grunted.

 

“Come on Leo, remember what I said about constipation?”

 

Leo startled. “What?”

 

“Hug me back.”

 

No answer.

 

“It’s easy, come on. Think of your intestines Leo. Think of the children.”

 

“You’re full of bullshit,” Leo muttered. His skin was still warm against his face. Neymar wanted to open his eyes to see if his blush was visible, but it would feel like an invasion of privacy, and he felt too comfy to move anyway.

 

Leo hesitated before, slowly, lifting his arms to wrap them as loosely as possible around Neymar’s lower back. As far as hugs went, this wasn’t a very good one. Neymar liked it anyway.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

 

“You need to keep that knife on you at all times.”

 

Neymar hummed.

 

“…you’re going to put it in your underwear aren’t you?”

 

“It’s my safest place,” Neymar mumbled, his lips stretching lazily.

 

Leo didn’t move for a while, allowing him this one hug, and Neymar felt _so good_ in his embrace, he might as well  have fallen asleep.

 

 

–

 

 

\--he definitely _had_ fallen asleep.

 

Neymar woke up fully dressed, shoes off, under the covers of his own bed. The curtains were open. He had no recollection of walking back home, his last memory being of Leo hugging him back a bit tighter, with all the willpower his emotional constipation allowed.

 

Could he have _actually_ fallen asleep in his arms?

 

That would be utterly embarrassing.

 

He searched for his phone, in a hurry to ask Leo what the heck had happened and most likely apologize for what the heck had happened. Yet before he could type anything, he noticed a small paper on his beside table with something scribbled on it. It was from Leo.

 

 _You fell asleep so I carried you back home_.

 _I put the knife_ _in on your_ _bedside table_.

 

Neymar quickly looked up to find that indeed, the silver handle was right there, next to his shiny phone. He looked back at the paper to read the last sentence.

 

_There are a lot of pictures of yourself on the walls._

 

Neymar could do nothing but bury his face in his pillow.

 

How utterly embarrassing.

 

 

–

 

 

“How do you think he carried you?” is the first thing Rafinha asked when Neymar was done retelling him the events from last night – or from this morning rather.

 

“God I don’t want to think about it,” Neymar lamented, hanging his head down in shame.

 

“Bridal style maybe?”

 

“I said I don’t want to think about it.”

 

“Or like a sack of potatoes, thrown over his shoulder.”

 

Neymar groaned. “Shut up.”

 

“Really though, falling asleep standing up… Aren’t you getting tired?”

 

“No I’m fine,” Neymar sat back properly.

 

“You sure? You’re working every day and you’re studying for mid-terms too… You should consider taking a break from your work.”

 

“Yeah,” Neymar said sarcastically. “Like I’m an _employee_ with actual _rights_.” He shrugged. “It’s just three weeks, I’ll be fine.”

 

“If you say so,” Rafinha said, a quizzical look on his face. “But when shit hits the fan, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

 

–

 

 

After that, things more or less went back to normal.

 

 _More or less_ , because Neymar kept a knife on himself and onhis bedside table; more or less because he cringed every time he heard an English foreigner speak; more or less because no customers dared flirt with him anymore.

 

Marcos said they were all scared of Leo now. Neymar didn’t complain.

 

The only real change were the mid-terms coming up, and as another week came to its end, Neymar decided to put in his place his super studying strategy that included mostly not sleeping so he had time to : a) catch up on everything he’d missed; b) understand the lessons he’d missed and beg Rafinha for help; and c) actually learn the fucking things. Neymar wasn’t a studious person, he hated those sleepless nights, hated cramming for an exam, but he wanted to make his parents _proud_. He wanted to get a degree to give to his parents, who’d done so much for him and had looked so happy when they’d learned he’d been accepted into uni. Communication wasn’t _too_ bad anyway, just pretty vague. He’d be someone’s secretary and sleep with his boss to get money, probably.

 

And so on this Friday afternoon, he could be found sitting in his room, fake glasses on his nose because it _helped_ , books and lessons dispatched all over his floor and his laptop perched on his lap. Rafinha was situated on his bed, doing more or less the same, _sans_ the glasses.

 

“Are you sure you can’t take days off?” Rafinha buggered him when they took a break to drink a hot chocolate. “You’re not sleeping much as it is; cutting even more on sleep is hardly a good idea.”

 

“Don’t worry. There’s only what, two weeks left? A walk in the park.”

 

“Yeah.” Rafinha sounded unconvinced. “And there are already dark circles under your eyes.”

 

“Maybe it’s eyeliner,” Neymar bit back, glaring over his mug.

 

Rafinha lifted his eyebrows. “Or maybe it’s death finally coming after you ass.”

 

 

–

 

 

It’s not that Rafinha had a point – because he’d never live that down – but around Wednesday Neymar was already pretty tired. More than usual that is. When he didn’t have anything to do, any drinks to make, it was keeping his eyes open. He did his best, trying to blink away the fatigue, keeping himself busy not to fall asleep on the spot. Once or twice, he thought he’d have to go through the shame of nodding off standing up.

 

When Leo came by, having someone to talk to helped staying awake. So really, as long as he was occupied, there was nothing to worry about.

 

–

 

 

Two days later, and this time they were studying in Rafinha’s room. His flat was further away from college but it was bigger, and definitely more cleaner than Neymar’s. They were sprawled on cushions on the floor, the TV offering some background noises to cover their inner screams as they studied.

 

“… _and some Spanish citizens want to follow the UK’s lead_ -”

 

Neymar groaned, re-reading the same sentence for the third time.

 

“Rafinha,” he moaned.

 

“Shush.”

 

“Help.”

 

“No way.”

 

Rafinha did hate economy just as much as he did after all.

 

“… _Hilary Clinton is losing points in the race against_ _Donald_ _Trump, though the final result_ -”

 

“What even is the use of GDP?” Neymar complained. “I don’t get it. How are numbers supposed to tell shit about the way people live?”

 

“Stop complaining,” Rafinha glared his way. “I’m studying French here.”

 

“You’re so fake,” he said. “ _Voulez-vous couchez avec moi?_ ”

 

“ _Non merci_ ,” Rafinha answered. “ _Va te faire foutre_.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

Rafinha grinned but didn’t say.

 

“Hey!” but his friend had went back to his readings and pretended not to hear him.

 

Neymar muttered a few insults under his breath and slumped against the wall, getting back to the horrible matter at hand : economy.

 

“... _for the thrid time in a row. Now on to the barbaric murder of a foreigner in Barcelona. The police confirmed today that it was indeed the corpse of Joey Barton that was_ _discovered_ _at the outskirt of the town, an English business man who worked for_ _HSBC_ _. His body was_ _found_ _in such a state that his_ _definitive_ _identification_ _could_ _only_ _be_ _confirme_ _d_ _today_ -”

 

Economy just had no point, Neymar thought, frowning at the sheets in front of his eyes. He was this close to burning all his money and become communist in protest.

 

“- _the police still has no lead but they_ _ruled out_ _the possibility_ _of_ _a hate crime, and_ _is warning against_ _the_ _deed_ _of a_ _madman_ _,_ _due to the nature of the victim’s injuries_ _. Now on to tourism – this year again, Barcelona_ -”

 

Rafinha turned off the TV.

 

“Economy is gibberish,” Neymar complained.

 

Rafa’s answer was slow to come.

 

“Yeah it is.”

 

 

–

 

 

It was 6 pm and Neymar had to leave for Uranus in a bit more than an hour, and he was dead tired. He’d slept 4 hours the previous night – well, this morning really, just like the day before and the day before. His body had grown used to sleeping when the sun rose, but this was something else.

 

One hour was plenty time for a nap wasn’t it?

 

 

–

 

 

It wasn’t. When Neymar woke up, it was past 9 pm and his phone kept buzzing with messages from Marcos.

 

 _Shit_.

 

He’d gotten up and dressed faster than ever in his life. Who knew what criminals did to latecomer. Would they take out one of his organ? God, he hoped they didn’t sell his testicles, he loved those.

 

When he arrived at Uranus 20 minutes later, he was out of breath, sweated like a pig and probably smelt like one too. Three days without showering did that to people.

 

“S-” Marcos approached him as he bent over his knees to catch his breath. “Sorry for being late, I didn’t wake up-”

 

Marcos lifted an eyebrow. “What were you doing asleep at this hour?” Neymar’s panting was his only answer. “Lucky though, your boyfriend was just about to leave.”

 

“My what?” Neymar lifted his face then followed Marcos’s thumb to the small man a few feet away from them.

 

“Leo!” he called, straightening up then bending back down because _air_. “Shit, sorry I made you wait.”

 

“It’s fine,” Leo said, frowning. “Are you ok?”

 

“Swell! A small mistake, won’t happen again, sorry.” He looked up and begged with his eyes. “Please don’t harvest my organs.”

 

Marcos laughed.

 

Despite an amused smile on his smile, Leo had the decency to look a bit concerned. “No one is going to harvest your organs,” he said calmly, like he was speaking to a kid.

 

Swell.

 

“I knew you guys were good dude,” Neymar breathed out in relief.

 

Later, when Neymar had stopped sweating, caught his breath, changed his clothes and settled nicely behind his counter, he made Leo and Marcos fancy cocktails.

 

“Here,” he said, sliding the glasses towards them. “ _Neymar on the beach_.”

 

Marcos shook his head. “You need to stop nicknaming cocktails after yourself.”

 

Neymar had a good argument at the ready, about how he was the one making the cocktails and therefore he deserved the recognition, but alas he never got to throw it in Marcos’s face.

 

“So why were you late?” Leo asked our of nowhere.

 

Neymar blinked and turned to him. “Told you, forgot my alarm.”

 

Leo didn’t look convinced.

 

“Why were you even asleep at this hour?”

 

Marcos leaned in, and unfortunately seemed to want a part in that invasion of his privacy. “You do seem a bit tired nowadays. You’re slacking at work, clumsier than usual.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“That’s not-”

 

“No really,” Neymar cut him off. “That’s on me. I was reckless with my sleep schedule. You know, you go on youtube, watch one video then another then another then several hours have passed and you’ve already grown a beard? That’s my own fault. It won’t happen again, so there’s no need to worry.”

 

Marcos hummed. He didn’t look convinced.

 

“But you know, you’re not going to get fired or punished if you arrive late.”

 

“Won’t I?”

 

“Course you won’t,” Leo muttered.

 

Marcos nodded. “Well there might be questions but-- you’ve been here long enough. You don’t need to prove anything, you wouldn’t get the whole, ‘kidnapped threatened mugged’ anymore.”

 

“Really?” Neymar asked, eyes wide. “Do you mean to say I-- I’ve been accepted into the family? I’m one of them? Wow,” he put a hand on his heart. “It’s such an honor.”

 

“I wouldn’t go _that_ far. No respectful mafia would ever take  you in.”

 

“We’re not desperate,” Leo agreed.

 

“Hey!”

 

“They’ll trust you because you’re with me,” he added, appeasing Neymar and making him warm all at once. Away from Leo’s stare, Marcos rolled his eyes.

 

“Shit man,” Neymar said, faking tears. “You really are good guys.”

 

“Maybe not _that_ good,” Marcos said. “There are men in there, if it weren’t for Mascherano, they wouldn’t be any better than the Englishman. You’re too trusting, but don’t forget that any of the _blaugrana_ _s_ would kill you without thinking twice.”

 

Neymar blinked. “The what?”

 

“The _blaugrana_ _ **s**_.”

 

“Who’s that.”

 

Both Leo and Marcos stared unblinkingly at him.

 

“Seriously,” Leo muttered, shaking his head.

 

Marcos spoke louder. “Don’t tell me you’ve been working here for 4 months and you don’t know who the _blaugranas_ are.”

 

“...no?” It seemed Neymar had missed something.

 

“You’re going to get killed one day,” Marcos said, shaking his head. “The _blaugran_ _as_ , that’s the dudes you’re working for.”

 

“The-- _ooooh_ ,” Neymar exclaimed, eyes lighting up with understanding.

 

“What did you think they were called?”

 

“Err. Mascherano and his boys?”

 

That seemed to shock a laughter out of Leo, who threw his head back and actually stepped away to laugh. Neymar grinned broadly.

 

“You feel proud don’t you,” Marcos said. “But you’d better not say that to Mascherano’s face.”

 

“But if you do I wanna be there!” Leo shouted from a few feet away, where he was still laughing.

 

“Why _blaugrana_ _s_ though?” Neymar wondered, redirecting his focus on Marcos. “Doesn’t it mean uh-- red and blue in Catalan?”

 

“The other way around, yeah,” Marcos nodded. “It’s because of the blood.”

 

“The blood…?”

 

“Yeah, red like the blood and blue like the veins,” he said, like it was obvious.

 

Neymar took a few seconds to process this, but when he did, there was no helping his giggle, and he started laughing madly.

 

“Holy shit, this is so _emo_. The blood? Was he a 14 year old teenager when he wrote that? This is- this-,” he couldn’t say anymore, his own whale-like noises obstructing his words.

 

Marcos slapped his head with no force.

 

“You’re going to get killed one day.”

 

 

–

 

 

“’am not tired, you’re tired,” Neymar mumbled, head lolling to the side. He was sitting next to Rafinha on his bed, several books uselessly open in front of them.

 

“Yeah sure.” Rafinha sighed. “Look Neymar, you’re exhausted. Just call in sick. Sasuke told you you’d be fine if you missed one day, no?”

 

“They said it was fine if I came _late_ **,** not that I could _skip_ work entirely. ” Neymar protested. “There’s only a week left anyway. It’s nothing.” He slid down and rested his head on Rafinha’s lap. “Now don’t you dare move, I’m napping.”

 

“At 6 pm.”

 

“You heard me.”

 

“Sure. You’re perfectly fine though.”

 

“Shush.”

 

He fell asleep so fast he didn’t even have time to wish himself good night. He didn’t miss Rafinha’s hands smoothing down his hair though.

 

If he hadn’t fallen asleep that fast maybe he’d have whispered, _thanks for being such a good friend Rafa_.

 

 

–

 

 

Rafinha was an awful friend.

 

Neymar had thought there was an _obvious_ silent agreement between them that Rafinha would wake him up when it was time for him to go to work, and yet, he’d been staring at the clock for a full minute and it was definitely _midnight_. Rafinha had neglected to wake him up.

 

Neymar hurried to put on his shoes while running to the door. He was so late, god, he was going to get _killed,_ the mafia would kidnap him and murder him and, and sell his skin to rich people so they could make bags with it and\-- Wasn’t that door supposed to be open?

 

Neymar had to stop mid-fretting when he realized he was failing at opening the door. No matter how many times he turned the doorknob, it just wouldn’t give.

 

It was _locked_. Rafinha had gone out and he’d _locked him in_.

 

Neymar had never dialed a number so fast. He waited anxiously for his friend to answer, while wondering about how dead he would be if he jumped through the window. Very dead probably.

 

When Rafa picked up, Neymar didn’t give him the time to say hello.

 

“You locked me in!”

 

“Hum?”

 

“Inside, you locked me inside! Where are you? You need to come asap.”

 

Rafinha snorted. “Yeah right.”

 

“It’s not a joke, asshole. I’m locked in your flat, you need to open the door, I’m so late--- thanks for not waking me up by the way.”

 

“Are you stupid or? Wait don’t answer that, you are.”

 

“Now’s not-”

 

“Neymar,” Rafinha said over him. “I _know_ I locked you in. It’s not a mistake, moron.”

 

“…What?”

 

“I locked you in, on purpose,” Rafinha repeated.

 

“You--” Neymar felt all the blood drain from his face. “Rafa-- My job-”

 

“Who do you think I am? Don’t worry about your job, I’m filling in for you.”

 

“You’re what now?”

 

“Filling in for you.”

 

“At Uranus.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“As a bartender.”

 

“Not as a whore you fucktard.”

 

“That- You can’t do that!”

 

“I can actually. I asked your friend-- Marcos? Said you had diarrhea, he shrugged and said alright.”

 

“But-”

 

“Neymar,” Rafinha called his name softly. “I’m just taking your shift for tonight, nothing to worry about.”

 

“But that’s not your job.”

 

“You’re not paid so neither is it yours.”

 

Neymar huffed.

 

“You need to sleep Ney. And now you have a whole night for yourself; make good use of it.”

 

“You need to sleep too. I don’t want you to fail your mid-terms because of _me_. ”

 

“Oh stop worrying about me and start worrying about yourself,” Rafinha bit back, exasperated. “I’m telling you it’s-- wow there, Handsome.”

 

“Uh?”

 

“The German,” Rafinha piped in. “Just manhandled a guy-- damn that’s hot. I can’t say I regret being there.”

 

This shocked a laughter out of Neymar. “Of course you would.”

 

Rafinha whistled low under his breath. “Nice ass buddy.”

 

Neymar giggled and slowly drifted back to Rafinha’s bed.

 

“You slut.”

 

Rafinha hummed.

 

“Oh by the way, I think I also saw Sasuke.”

 

“Leo? He came by?”

 

“I think. Short man, black hair, an ugly pink tattoo on the arm?”

 

“It’s not ugly.”

 

“It is. It’s ugly as hell.”

 

“It’s not,” Neymar protested. “He told me it’s an ode to _Barcelona_.”

 

“It could be an ode to my ass and I’d still find it ugly.” He ignored Neymar’s indignant gasp and went on, “He looked pretty gutted when I told him you wouldn’t come today.”

 

“Did he?” Neymar asked, sounding more hopeful than he’d meant to.

 

“Deffo.”

 

Neymar coughed. “Well uh-- he got up for nothing, of course he’d be--” then his mind caught up. “Wait, how are _you_ going to go back home? It’s late, you could get mugged.”

 

“I’m not stupid. I took a _bike_.”

 

“A-” Neymar took a few seconds to process it. “Ah.”

 

“You never thought about taking a bike did you?”

 

“I can’t answer that.”

 

Rafinha laughed. He guessed he had it coming.

 

He waited until his friend calmed down before clearing his throat, and his voice was soft and sincere when he said, “Thank you Rafa.”

 

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

“No really, thanks for being there for me. I’m sorry for saying you’re a dirty hoe. You’re a good hoe.”

 

Rafinha huffed, and Neymar knew he was smiling. “Now go back to sleep and let me flirtIce Man’s number out of him.”

 

 

–

 

 

Leo _did_ look rather unhappy when he came by the day after.

 

“You could have warned me,” he’d muttered while Neymar apologized.

 

“I know, I’m sorry.”

 

“t’s fine,” Leo shrugged, still looking unhappy. It was kinda cute. “Just warn me next time.”

 

“Oh don’t worry, there _won’t_ be a next time.”

 

Leo frowned but kept quiet. He sipped quietly on the bright red drink Neymar had made especially for him – he called it a _Bloody Neymar_.

 

Neymar got to work while Leo drunk mournfully from his straw, studying his movements as he prepared a few drinks for a big table. He ended up having to redo a few, fucking up the doses several times and cursing under his breath. He felt so clumsy.

 

“Are you fine?” Leoasked, surprising Neymar as he once again forgot the receipts for a cocktail.

 

“Uh?” Neymar looked up at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Leo considered him for a few more seconds, eyes sweeping over his face. “You’re clumsy, these days.”

 

Neymar coughed. “Don’t tell Marcos I said that, but I’m clumsy most days.”

 

Leo didn’t even smile. “That’s not what I’m talking about. You seem tired.” He looked right into his eyes and Neymar knew he had some circles under them, but nothing _that_ alarming.

 

“I’m fine,” he assured, but Leo didn’t look convinced. “Really, I am! I just have an exam coming up soon, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

 

Leo looked quizzical. “Are you sure? If something’s wrong… I could help.”

 

Neymar giggled. “What, would you comfort me? You can’t even _hug_ me, how would you--”  his own laughter prevented him from finishing this sentence, though from the sour look on Leo’s face, he’d understood the message.

 

“Maybe I can do something else,” he muttered.

 

“Unless you know anything about GDP,” Neymar said with mirthful eyes, “I don’t think you can be of any help.”

 

Leo grimaced, which summed up rather well Neymar’s feelings on the subject.

 

He gave Leo a grateful smile. “Thank you though. For offering. And for worrying about me.”

 

Leo looked away.“Don’t thank me for stupid things.”

 

“It’s not stupid,” Neymar protested. “It means a lot.”

 

Leo glanced back at him.

 

“I guess I should be thanking you too.”

 

“Thanking me? For what?” Neymar grinned. “Making you get up early?”

 

Leo smiled in a way Neymar couldn’t decipher. “Better get up early than not have anything to get up for.”

 

Neymar blinked at him. “What?”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Leo brushed him off. He pushed his empty glass towards him. “Another _Bloody Neymar_ please.”

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar woke up and thought there was a fire in the dormitory.

 

His heart beat fast at first, and he flared his nostrils, trying to detect the smell of smoke, but all he could smell was dirty socks. There was no visible fire, no panicked screams and it took him a minute to realize _he_ was the one feeling hot.

 

And since there was no better way to deal with an issue than to ignore it, he got up and went to classes.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar couldn’t focus. At all. He didn’t even have enough strength in his arms to type, his vision blurry and his head so so heavy.

 

Rafinha kept glancing worryingly at him.

 

Neymar didn’t even have the energy to fight him, but he still managed to glare something fierce.

 

“I’m _fine_.” Neymar whispered.

 

“You have a fever.”

 

“You don’t know that.”

 

“Your skin is burning, you’re sweating, and you look like you’re going to fall over any time soon.”

 

“I call bullshit.”

 

Rafinha almost looked annoyed. “I’m not joking. You need to go back home.”

 

“I already missed morning classes, I can’t afford to miss this one too.”

 

“You know what you can’t afford? Being sick right now. Go back home already.”

 

“No,” Neymar hissed. “My body, my rule, and I say we’re staying right there.”

 

He could tell from his face Rafinha was this close to killing him, which would at least have the advantage of relieving him of that horrible headache that was hijacking his brain.  When classes ended,  he attempted to power-walk his way to his dorm to avoid Rafa’s fury, but alas, the world insisted on spinning on him.

 

“You’re not going to work tonight are you.”

 

“What do you think?”

 

“I think you’re an idiot.”

 

Neymar sighed, and leaned on Rafinha as they walked. “It’ll be fine. I’ll take a nap.”

 

“I could fill in for you.”

 

Neymar shook his head. “Don’t be stupid, you need to study too.” Rafinha opened his mouth to protest but he didn’t let him. “If you failed your exams because of me I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

 

Rafinha looked away, frowning, but he didn’t argue with him this time.

 

 

–

 

 

True to his words, Neymar had gone right to sleep. Might have passed out actually.

 

And w hen his alarms blazed off at 7 pm, he  thought his skull was about to  _ explode _ .  Each and every of his limbs felt numb and heavy . He  felt like he’d gained body mass overnight.

 

The floor titled when he got up, that bastard. There was a text from Rafinha on his phone, inquiring about his well-being.

 

 _i_ _m fine_ , he answered. _f_ _eels better than b4_ _i_ _think my_ _fever_ _went down._

 

The process of preparing for work then actually walking all the way to Uranus was so excruciating he was actually surprised he made it there without spontaneously dying. He did end up barely on time though, even though he’d left earlier than before.

 

He thought he’d feel better once he’d settled at Uranus, but everything was pretty much the same, but louder. And hotter. He stuck his head in the fridge whenever he got the time.

 

Alas, Leo arrived at such a time.

 

“What are you…?”

 

Neymar jumped back, regretted jumping back because _pain_ , then focused his blurry eyes on Leo.

 

“I’m feeling a bit hot,” he explained.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Yep,” Neymar nodded.

 

Shouldn’t have nodded. Pain. His heart was pounding in his temple and he felt weaker by the minute.

 

“I just-” his sight seemed to have narrowed down. He felt dizzy in his head but his whole belly suddenly felt light, like something had changed, like the poles had switched. He was fainting.

 

“I need to-” he tried, but his voice felt softer than usual and Leo had a concerned look on his face.

 

He stared at Leo’s face helplessly, trying to summon all the brain cells he had to come up with a plan, but he was light-headed and he already couldn’t feel his body anymore. His eyesight was getting worse by the minute, narrowing down until all he could see was Leo.

 

And then he couldn’t see anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he dead
> 
> Oh also, "va te faire foutre" means go fuck yourself, basically.


	6. don't forget your place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, he not dead.
> 
> Well, college is keeping me quite busy this year, but even if it takes me a bit longer to update, it goes without saying that I wouldn't give up an on-going story. Oh also, I believe it was someone's birthday on Friday? Happy birthday to whoever it is it was.
> 
> Oh also, no particular warnings for this chapter.

Neymar woke up in a bed that wasn’t his.

 

He blinked a few times until his sight stopped being blurry and fixated on the white ceiling above. Red lights were casting shadows on the ceiling and in the distance Neymar could hear a slow music being played. He was lying on soft sheets and even though his body felt hotter than usual he could still feel the air being blown from a fan and filling his noise with unknown scents.

 

_Shit_ , he swore internally. Had he been kidna-

 

“Have I been kidnapped?” A voice said, voicing his thoughts before he could even go to the heart of them.

 

Neymar turned his head to the side as quickly as his headache would allow, and found himself looking at none other than his best friend : Rafinha.

 

“That’s what you’re thinking aren’t you?” Rafinha mocked.

 

“Where am I?”

 

“Oh come on. Think a bit man.”

 

“Ah!” Neymar exclaimed after a few seconds. “I was at Uranus.”

 

“And?”

 

“And I had a bit of a down moment.”

 

“A down moment. I come here to find you’d passed out from fever and general stupidity, and you say you had a _down moment_.”

 

“What? It’s not _my_ fault,” Neymar defended himself.

 

“Oh, don’t play the victim with me. I’ve told you plenty of times to take care of yourself and I have the right to blame you as much as I want.”

 

Neymar decided to ignore that nonsensical argument and started looking around for a clock.“How long have I been there?”

 

“An hour, give or take.”

 

“An ho- Holy shit,” Neymar tried to spring up and rush out of bed – try being the keyword. His arms weren’t strong enough and as soon as he was sitting the whole world decided to play a joke on him and rotate just a bit faster. “-wow.” _Damn_ did his head hurt.

 

Rafinha had sat back casually into his chair, arms crossed and leveling him with a _I told you so_ look.

 

“What?” Neymar said defensively.

 

“I’m just wondering what’s the point of wearing large snapbacks when you have such a small brain.”

 

“Instead of giving me your bitch face, help me out of here,” Neymar grumbled.

 

“And why, pray tell, would I help a careless idiot get out of bed?”

 

“I need to get back to work.”

 

“See?” Rafinha asked. “Stupid. No one here will let you work in this state.”

 

“But I-”

 

“And I do mean no one. Yourfriends seemed rather upset you’d been hiding things from them.”

 

“I di-”

 

“I barely saw Sasuke actually, stormed outside right when I came in.”

 

“Leo’s angry?”

 

“Oh, ‘ _angry_ ’ is an understatement.”

 

“Shit,” Neymar bit his lips. He didn’t want Leo to be angry at him. “I need to talk to him.” He stared up pitifully at Rafinha. “Help me up,” he begged.

 

“Sure,” Rafinha agreed. “But I make no promise not to insult you on the job,” he added as he slipped an arm under his armpits and slowly helped him up.

 

Neymar felt dizzy and unstable on his two feet, leaning heavily on his friend but once he’d waited a few seconds gravity righted itself and he was able to walk, slow steps after slow steps. He still felt better than when he’d arrived at Uranus, and he guessed he had painkillers to thank for that.

 

Climbing down stairs was a bit of a challenge and Rafinha kept bitching at him and about him, complaining that he was a waste of space and that Rafinha could be flirting with the Ice Giant if it wasn’t for his two brain cells and their renewed stupidity.

 

Still, Rafa was at his sides in a flash every time he stumbled.

 

Downstairs everything went as usual – chatter, loud laughter, slow music, the clink of glasses and the click of high heels on wooden floor. He looked curiously at the bar, where Pocho stood proudly, making a show for a few customers as he--- Neymar had no idea what it is he was doing but this didn’t look like proper bartender behavior.

 

Marcos was nowhere in sight, and Neymar made a mental note to find him later to apologize, before he urged Rafinha to walk him to the door.

 

Rafa dropped him in front of the door, so he could face his demon on his own. When he stepped outside, the winter’s cold temperature immediately smashed into his face and cooled down his whole body, easing some of his headache and general discomfort. He took a second to enjoy this illusory relief before looking around until he spotted the small man leaning against the wall.

 

Leo wasn’t wearing anything more than a long-sleeved black shirt, a daring move in such a weather. His eyes were set on him, staring unblinkingly with those dark, unfathomable eyes of his.

 

Neymar tried to be brave and started walking confidently forward – at least he’d meant to look confident but upon realizing his legs were jello he opted for what he hoped looked like a casual stroll.

 

Leo didn’t say a word. He observed him silently, and his stare didn’t allow Neymar to look away, trapping him into an exchange he could have done without.

 

“Hey,” Neymar greeted with a smile when he finally reached him, after what felt like several excruciating minutes. “I didn’t get to greet you properly.”

 

Leo didn’t answer.

 

“Are you going to tell me I’m stupid too?” Neymar asked.

 

“No,” Leo answered, taking a step forward to look him down – an incredible feat given their height difference. Neymar felt _small_. “You’re not stupid, you’re a _moron_. You have the maturity level of a kid who can’t take care of itself and who should probably be locked up into adaycare for its own damn safety.”

 

“That’s harsh,” Neymar protested, weakly.

 

“Is it?” Leo asked, voice heavy with reproach and eyes burning him with their cold anger. “I’ve asked you plenty of times if you were fine and if you needed help, yet I still find out there’s something wrong _after_ you passed out on the job right in front of me.”

 

Neymar looked down, feeling guilt well up in his stomach. “I thought- I didn’t want to worry you.”

 

“ _Good jo_ _b_.”

 

“But! I really thought-- that I’d be fine? And there’s no helping it, I have to work so-”

 

“Do you not trust me?” Leo asked out of nowhere.

 

“What? I trust you with my life,” Neymar answered with an honesty that took him by surprise.

 

“Do you? Because I _could_ have helped you.”

 

Neymar shook his head.

 

“You can’t make my mid-terms or my tiredness disappear Leo. What can you do? I didn’t want you to worry about things that were out of your control.”

 

Leo didn’t answer immediately and when Neymar focused back on his eyes, they were fiery with anger and cold with contempt.

 

“Who the hell do you think I am?”

 

“What?”

 

“Who do you think I am?” Leo repeated.

 

“I-- I know who you are but-”

 

“But what? Do you _actually_ think I don’t have the power to make you stop working?”

 

“ _How_ would you do that? I need to work, Mascherano would have-”

 

“I can deal with Masche,” Leo interrupted him.

 

“But he’s the boss-”

 

“He isn’t _my_ boss,” Leo hissed. “I don’t have any goddamn boss. I don’t ake orders and I don’t need anyone’s approbation. Masche’s my brother and if I tell him to let you off the hook, he’ll do just that.”

 

Neymar didn’t know what to say. Leo looked mad, infuriated by the thought anyone could have an ascendancy over him.

 

“Are we clear?” he asked in a tone that allowed no complaint.

 

Neymar nodded pitifully, head hung down.

 

“Good.”

 

Leo brushed past him, walking until he stood a few feet away from Neymar, his back to him.

 

“I called Masche, you’re not to work until your mid-terms are done.And you’re to tell us whenever you have fucking exams coming up.”

 

Neymar chanced a glance up, watching Leo’s tense back, his fists shoved in his pockets. He looked irascible but Neymar hardly though he’d ever hurt him. It would go against the point of making sure he was healthy wouldn’t it? Neymar knew anger came from worry, and maybe Leo had been very worried.

 

The thought made a smile dance on his lips.

 

He took several steps forward until he was right behind Leo. He pushed his thumb against his spine to warn him before he wrapped his arms around him and flushed his body against his back. He pressed his burning forehead against his cold nape and breathed in deeply.

 

“Thanks for taking care of me,” he whispered.

 

“You’re an idiot.” Leo’s body was tense but he didn’t push Neymar off him.

 

Neymar smiled. “See, I knew you’d say that too.”

 

“Don’t you dare be proud of yourself,” Leo warned, but already the fury from before was leaving his voice, replaced by helplessness and annoyance.

 

Neymar linked his hands together in front of Leo’s belly to trap him in his embrace, pressing his head into the crook of his neck so he could breathe him in better.

 

“Moron,” Leo grunted when he felt the wide-spread smile on Neymar’s lips against his skin.

 

Neymar remained where he was since Leo didn’t shake him off, enjoying the coldness of his skin and the way his heart beat calmly, like a rock that could never be torn down. He didn’t move, not until he felt Leo relax against him, his shoulders sagging and his fists unclenching; until Leo had leaned back surreptitiously against his torso.

 

“You should sleep,” Leo said, his voice gentle. “You need to rest.”

 

“Sure,” Neymar answered. Then. “I can’t walk anymore though so you’ll have to carry me.”

 

He couldn’t see but he did feel Leo’s responding laughter, the slight shaking of his body against his. It almost lulled him to sleep.

 

 

–

 

 

True to their words, no one allowed him back to Uranus until his mid-terms were over and done for. Rafinha made sure of that. It seemed he kept the brothel updated on his health through Marc-André – who knew how and when he’d even gotten his number.

 

Marcos had sent him a few messages – the very first one to announce that if he ever passed out from exhaustion again he’d kick his ass, and the second one a day later that he’d refused to elaborate on, leaving Neymar with a cryptic, _ULL NEVER GUESS WHO THEY SENT TO REPLACE U_.

 

Truth was, Neymar kinda missed Leo. He had straight out refused to even talk to him while he was still cramming for his exams, and so Neymar was left alone with Rafinha’s bitch face, hot chocolate and economy lessons.

 

 

–

 

 

“So,” was the first thing Marcos said when Neymar came back to work. “Guess who replaced you while you were sick.”

 

“Hello, nice to see you again.”

 

“Yeah yeah whatever. I missed your stupid face, now guess.”

 

“Rude,” Neymar muttered. He made his way to the bar, followed closely by Marcos. He was surprised by how good he felt being back behind _his_ bar, hearing the soft chatter of the prostitutes arriving in the background. It was all so familiar and homely. “I’m guessing it’s not Pocho?”

 

“They sent _Agüero_.”

 

“What?”

 

“ _Agüero_. Messi’s lap dog. He had to manage the bar while you were away.”

 

“Why would they-- don’t you two always fight?”

 

“Oh that we do,” Marcos said with a full grin. “ _All the time_. This was unbelievably fun.”

 

Neymar shook his head, smiling. “You’re so _weird_. Why would Agüero even agree to this?”

 

“Was ordered to. Agüero does anything Mascherano tells him to. He’s such a _dog_.” Marcos still had that mad grin on his face. “And, he’ll have to work here again.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You got a new schedule,” Marcos answered, sitting down on a stool and getting a crumpled sheet of paper out of his pocket.

 

Neymar leaned over the counter, peering curiously at the sheet. “What’s this?”

 

“A few changes have been made to your schedule. The hours stay the same, but you’ll be free on Mondays. And you can ask for a day off whenever you need it.”

 

Neymar blinked. “Really?”

 

Marcos nodded and Neymar didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t had actual free time in so long, he realized, and the mere idea to have some time for himself was already a wonder in itself.

 

Marcos resumed, “Agüero will replace you. _And_ , he’ll also come by Friday and Saturday to help, since those are the busiest nights.” A full-blown smile took over Marcos’s lips again. “It’s going to be _so much fun_.”

 

“Masochist. You two stay away from me.”

 

“Oh, you should feel a bit more concerned about this. Agüero hates your guts too.”

 

“Wait what?”

 

“Yep. Blames you for having to work. And also hogging his best friend. Low-key wishes you’d die.”

 

“That’s unfair! I never even talked to the guy!”

 

Marcos shrugged. “That’s Agüero for you. Nothing he does makes sense.”

 

“That’s not reassuring,” Neymar muttered.

 

There went his good start.

 

 

–

 

 

Leo was there early, and Neymar allowed himself to think that maybe, it was because he’d missed him.

 

“Hey,” Neymar greeted him with a smile. “I missed you.”

 

He heard Marcos whisper _smooth_ a few steps away.

 

Leo didn’t even look at him, merely grunting in acknowledgment.

 

“Did you miss me?” Neymar asked with a full grin.

 

He knew exactly what Leo would say before he’d even said it.

 

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

 

Neymar broke out into a loud giggle.

 

–

 

 

Neymar was only gone a few minutes.

 

When he’d left his bar, Pocho was here telling dirty jokes to entertain them, and when he came back, Pocho was gone and Leo was glaring murderously at his mug.

 

“Did something happen?” Neymar asked, confused.

 

Leo lifted his eyes silently, redirecting his glare to him instead of his coffee.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“That’s none of your business,” Leo answered curtly.

 

“O-kay?” _Where did that come from?_

 

“What am I even doing there?” Leo asked. “I should just go home, you have means to go back home by yourself don’t you?”

 

“I- what?” Neymar’s guts twisted with apprehension. Why would Leo question their arrangement now, after weeks and months of walking him home every day? Neymar didn’t want it to stop.

 

_Shit_ , maybe he’d finally understood that Neymar could have just taken a bike to work all this time? That would make anyone angry, but Neymar himself had only been aware of this for a _month_ , at most.

 

“I thought- I mean, I didn’t want to exploit you or anything but-”

 

“Don’t you?” Leo cut him. “Did you think you could keep this away from me?”

 

“I… maybe? I don’t know-” Neymar stuttered. “Are you going to leave or-”

 

“I don’t have much of a choice do I?” Leo answered bitterly. “It’s not like you have any other way to go back home today, but don’t be surprised if I don’t show up tomorrow.”

 

“I-” Neymar opened his mouth but he had no idea what to say. He knew Leo had reasons to be upset, but he was being downright cruel, and possibly Neymar deserved it but it still hurt. He didn’t want to go back home alone. He didn’t want Leo to never come back here.

 

But he was feeling too anxious and Leo looked too angry for Neymar to utter a single word. So instead he quieted down and went on with his work. Leo stayed right where he was, blissfully ignoring him, and it went on the whole night. Pocho threw him apologetic smiles every time he came into view, and Neymar itched to ask him what had happened while he was gone but Leo’s presence made him feel like he was trapped right there behind his counter.

 

 

–

 

 

By the time the brothel was closing, they had not exchanged a single word. In fact, Neymar hadn’t talked to anyone besides customers. Leo’s mood kept everyone away and Marcos had had nothing more to offer than a text that went _sorry bro you’re on your own_.

 

They exited Uranus in silence, Leo walking in front and Neymar lagging a few steps behind. He felt like a kid wrapped in his big coat and giant scarf, hands shoved into his pockets, following behind like he’d done something bad and he’d been scolded. Except he hadn’t done anything _that_ bad. It was winter, no one liked riding a bike in winter!

 

He looked at Leo’s back. His shoulders were tense and his steps were quick, like he was determined to have this task be over and done for so he never had to walk Neymar home ever again. What an upsetting thought.

 

He stopped in his tracks, waiting until Leo noticed he wasn’t following and turned around, stopping to look back at him disdainfully **.**

 

Neymar unscrewed his head from his scarf, trying to stand proud when he said, “What’s wrong with you?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

Neymar wouldn’t back down without a fight this time. “But it’s too _cold_ to ride a bike and I didn’t even-”

 

“What the hell are you talking about? Don’t play _dumb_ , you know why I’m upset.”

 

“...I do?”

 

“You’re wasting my time,” Leo said coldly. “This,” he said, “this is _useless_.”

 

Now, if this _wasn’t_ about the bike, Neymar had no idea why Leo was upset and this all seemed extremely unfair.

 

“Well if you don’t want to be there you can just leave!” he argued back, indignant at being attacked without a valid reason.

 

“And leave you alone to get mugged? Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

 

“I don’t get it! Either you care or you don’t but make up your mind already.”

 

“What would be the point of having protected you for so long if I leave you alone now?” Leo answered, eyes ablaze. He took a few steps forward, and Neymar didn’t cower but he _did_ take one step back.

 

“Wouldn’t you be upset, if you’d stayed up late several months for nothing? If you were being made a fool of?” Leo continued with venom in his voice. His eyes were thunderous. He spat, “Why the hell am I the one walking you home when you have a fucking _boyfriend_ to do it for you?”

 

Neymar had to blink a few times.

 

“A boyfriend?”

 

“Oh don’t play dumb. You think I’d never find out?”

 

“ _A boyfriend_?”

 

“ _Don’t_ play the dupe with me Neymar,” Leo warned. “How long did you think you’d be able to take advantage of me? How long did you think you’d be able to have me go out of my way to keep you safe while _your man_ stayed warm and safe at home and didn’t make a damn move to protect his things?”

 

“I’m not a thing, the hell are you-”

 

“In the end you’re just like every vile idiots I’ve ever met; those shallow _leech_ _es_.”

 

“Who the hell are you calling a leech?!” Neymar shouted, Leo’s words working him up to anger. “You decided to save me on your own, I never asked you anything!”

 

“Oh, but you sure were happy that I was offering weren’t you!” Leo snarled back, taking a few more steps forward. But Neymar was angry now, and he wouldn’t back down. Even if he knew he stood no chance, there was no way he’d ever ran away when someone was insulting him like that.

 

“I never asked anything out of you, you decided to help me _on your own_. You don’t have the _righ_ _t_ to say I’m using you when I gave you plenty fucking chances to back off-”

 

“I can say whatever I want,” Leo cut in. “And if your boyfriend is a fucking pussy who can’t even protect you, I have the right to be angry that all you care about are his fucking _looks_ and-”

 

“My boyfriend isn’t a pussy,” Neymar shrieked, high-pitched, infuriated that Leo was insulting his boyfriend like that when-

 

And then the whole situation sunk in and Neymar stopped himself short. “Wait, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

 

“I’d advise against lying to me face,” Leo said, a warning and a threat.

 

“I’m not lying, I don’t have a boyfriend!” Neymar insisted.

 

“Don’t lie-”

 

“I’m not lying! Who would I even be dating?”

 

“That _friend_ of yours who came by when you were sick. He sure knew he lot about your sleeping habits,” Leo said with disgust in his voice.

 

“Holy cow.” Neymar paled at once. “Rafinha. You think I’m going out with Rafinha.”

 

“Whatever his name is.”

 

“ _Rafinha_ ,” he repeated, incredulous. “This is-- this is so disgusting. It’s like-- _incest_ man.”

 

Leo had the decency to look puzzled. “Incest?”

 

“Not incest _incest_ but- Rafa is my brother, just like Agüero is yours, right? We’d never-- _ew_ , just thinking about his square face makes my dick shrink.”

 

“But,” Leo looked hesitant. “Pocho told me he was your boyfriend.”

 

“Pocho? Oh-” And Neymar _did_ remember Rafinha dropping by and Pocho thinking they were together. Neymar remembered telling him he’d explain everything later, and he also distinctly remembered never doing it. “Shit.”

 

“What?”

 

“He got the wrong idea and I wanted to tell him later on but then I kinda forgot.” He moaned, “I didn’t think he’d go around telling people me and fuckface Rafinha were together.”

 

Leo’s head was tilted to the side and he seemed to be gauging the likeliness of this whole story. He didn’t look anywhere near as mad and dangerous as a few minutes ago.

 

“So you don’t have a boyfriend?”

 

“Certainly not.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah,” Neymar said, lifting his chin. “ _Oh_.”

 

“I thought,” Leo mumbled, shrugged, shuffled, looked down.

 

“You thought?”

 

“Well you know. If you had a boyfriend he should be taking care of you.”

 

“Yeah? What, you were angry at _me_ because my hypothetical boyfriend wasn’t taking care of me?”

 

“ _Actually_ , I meant to drop by his place to have a few words with him about this matter.”

 

“… I don’t wanna know what you mean by that,” Neymar said.

 

Leo shrugged, decidedly not raising his head to look at him. He looked embarrassed and possibly ashamed of himself – and rightly so.

 

“You’re dumb,” Neymar said, and there were no heat behind the words. Nevermind Neymar had been stupid enough to defend a boyfriend he didn’t have.

 

Leo frowned, unhappy at the insult but he kept quiet. He turned around, hands in his pockets, and resumed his walk, obviously trying to give off a vibe of ‘ _whatever now it’s in the past don’t be a kid and live in the past live on already_ ’.

 

That is to say, he was pouting.

 

Neymar let out a short laugh and ran up to him, beaming at Leo.

 

“What are you in a hurry for? My _boyfriend_ always walks at the exact same pace as me.”

 

Leo ignored him and Neymar laughed out loud, his wheezing echoing in the empty streets.

 

“Don’t be like that Leo!” He said, tilting his head. “I mean, even I did have a boyfriend, I’d still rather you were the one walking me home.”

 

Leo glanced at him, lifting an eyebrow questioningly.

 

“Because no boyfriend of mine would ever be as strong as you.”

 

And at last, it got a smile out of Leo. “No he wouldn’t.”

 

_Poser_ , Neymar thought fondly.

 

“Unless _you_ were my boyfriend of course!” he added cheerfully.

 

And really, it wasn’t his fault he spoke too fast for his brain to have the time to do its job and keep him from saying shit he shouldn’t be saying. Because as soon as these words were out of his mouth, Neymar regretted them. Leo stopped dead in his tracks, and there was no mistaking that atmosphere that settled between them – it was tense, and awkward.

 

_God_ , Neymar really hoped he wasn’t reading this whole thing wrong.

 

“I mean that-- that’d be pretty dope,” he said nervously.

 

Leo stared unblinkingly at him and it made him uneasy, made him feel small and frail. If he was expecting anything from him he should just say so and spare Neymar’s heat these jumpscares.

 

“Because no one is stronger than you, so then you’d be like--” Neymar couldn’t stand the silence and he _needed_ to ramble on, “You’re not very tall but I think you’re the perfect size for cuddling and your tattoos are kinda cool and-I mean I take a shower every day and stuff and, and I can speak several languages, also I have a collection of very cool snapbacks and once I did 20 push-ups in a row and a teacher said they’re never seen someone as adamant as me at being kicked out of class, and also I--” Why did it feel like he was trying to sell himself? “I’m willing to learn how to cook and a ninja once told me my coffe was decent and I could totally make you coffee whenever and also I kinda-”

 

Neymar was saved from any further embarrassment when Leo’s hand grabbed his napeand pulled his head forward, pressing their lips together.

 

Neymar had a mini black-out.

 

He’d have yelped, but Leo took over his mouth as soon as he opened it, his hand firm on his neck and keeping him where he was. He all but ravaged his mouth, kissing him like no one had kissed him before. Neymar could do nothing more than stand there, his heart beating madly and hands hanging uselessly at his sides. Leo’s tongue was hot on his, lapping and teasing, his teeth almost cruel when they nibbled on his bottom lip, and he held him so firmly Neymar no way to escape, not that he really wanted to. There was something so comforting in Leo taking control and just allowing it to happen.

 

When Leo finally let go of him, Neymar couldn’t hold back a pitiful whimper, drool on his chin, his lips numb and his body hot.

 

“Munfug. Gur,” Neymar said, very coherently. That is to say, he was completely inarticulate.

 

Leo rolled his eyes, and with no preamble turned around and resumed their walk back to Neymar’s place.

 

“Hey!” Neymar shouted, wiping the drool off his chin. “You can’t just-” He willed his limbs back to life and ran to catch up to him, but once at his level he lost his indignation at this kiss-and-run situation.

 

He had nothing to say. He felt shy, and Leo didn’t, which was absolutely unfair. He hid his mouth in his scarf, all the way up to to his nose, to hide both his blush and the smile that was making its way on his face.

 

He let his hand bump against Leo’s as they walked, tentatively, and when Leo didn’t move away, he took his hand in his, linking their fingers together.

 

It wasn’t until they’d reached Neymar’s building that he dared ask, “So I guess I do have a boyfriend now?”

 

As expected, Leo answered, “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

 

What he didn’t expect was the kiss that followed.

 

 

–

 

 

When Leo came by the night after, Neymar leaned down to put a quick peck on his lips.

 

Everyone cheered.

 

“I wanted to keep this slow,” Neymar explained, while Pocho lamented from afar _I guess_ _he_ _won’t take me up on my offer_ _after all_ and Marcos bellowed with laughter, “but I ended up telling everyone.”

 

“That he did!” Marcos shouted. “Came in beaming like the sun was shining out of his ass, stood up on a table and announced he was dating you!”

 

“I did not!” Neymar yelled, outraged, “stand up on a table, it was chair, that’s like, 50% less dramatic!” Marcos openly laughed at him and Neymar turned to Leo sheepishly. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s alright,” Leo said, although he looked awkward and the tips of his ears were red. “I don’t mind.”

 

“My little Lio!” Pocho burst in, hugging Leo’s head to his chest. “I’ve been there for 10 years and I never thought that day would come. Can you believe that once Masche marries me I’ll be your _step-father._ You can call me _Papi_ if you want-”

 

Maybe he _should_ have taken things slow, Neymar reasoned.

 

 

–

 

 

Dating Leo was just as amazing as Neymar thought if he had actually thought about it. It was just like before except Leo sometimes let himself be coaxed into making out in the backroom, making Neymar feel like a giddy teenage boy all over again.

 

The only scary thing about it had been the unknown number that had sent him this text : _I’m happy for_ _my brother._ _I expect you to take care of him_. Neymar didn’t need to ask who this number belonged to, and he filed it under an egg emoji.

 

He hoped he’d never have to see it again. 

 

 

–

 

 

True to Marcos’s words, he and Kun did spend their time fighting whenever Kun was here to give a hand. They often needed to be physically separated, but Marcos seemed to have a lot of fun on those nights.

 

“I can’t believe this is something you enjoy,” Neymar muttered, frowning as he disinfected a cut on Marcos’s cheek.

 

“Come on, don’t tell me you don’t see why Agüero being angry is fun. Have you seen his face? So round. Man wasn’t made for anything but eating marshmallows.”

 

Neymar pictured Agüero eating marshmallows and found it surprisingly easy to imagine.

 

“ _Still_. Even if he doesn’t look like it, he’s apparently strong enough to kick your ass.”

 

“I didn’t lose,” Marcos pointed out.

 

“Neither did you win.”

 

Marcos shrugged. “It’s not my fault anyway. He’s got all these ideas about me being a pimp and _blah blah blah_. Man got worked up on his own.”

 

“You could just tell him the truth,” Neymar suggested.

 

“No need to. Working here, he’s bound to find out that Karina has a girlfriend.”

 

Marcos looked almost sorry for Agüero at the thought of his soon-to-be realization.

 

“You _still_ could tell him, asshole.”

 

“Man ever since you became the First Lady you’ve become such a pretentious douchebag.”

 

“The First Lady?” Neymar repeated, bewildered. Then the words sunk in and he laughed out loud. “That’s a good one!”

 

When they went back to the main room, Agüero was in a corner of the room, seething while Pique talked loudly – even from this distance Neymar could tell he was antagonizing him – and Leo sat next to him, looking bored and uninterested with what was happening around him. He did glance at Neymar when he resurfaced, and offered him a quick nod.

 

_So_ _loving_ , Neymar thought dreamily.

 

“You’re pitiful,” Marcos commented as he headed to the stairs.

 

“I’ll tell Leo you said that!” Neymar called after his back.

 

 

–

 

 

Ever since he’d gotten together with Leo, Neymar had been eager to formally introduce him to Rafinha, because Rafinha was his bestfriend, and also because he wanted to make sure there were no more misunderstandings.

 

He wasn’t particularly apprehensive about the meeting. Leo trusted him and Rafinha was a bitch but he was alright, most of the time. He wasn’t scared of this encounter but apparently he had been wrong not to be, for the first Rafinha said was :

 

“Hello, I’m Rafinha, Neymar’s boyfriend.”

 

He should have known he couldn’t trust Rafinha with anything. He quickly kicked him and hurried to correct his words.

 

“He’s lying Leo, don’t listen to this fucktard.”

 

He looked at Leo pleadingly, fearful when he noticed the serious expression on his face.

 

“Pleased to meet you,” Leo answered. “I am also Neymar’s boyfriend.”

 

This brought a laugh out of Rafa, and a smug smile formed on Leo’s lips.

 

“Damn it Neymar, you whore!” And Rafinha laughed some more. “I don’t want anyone’s sloppy seconds, I guess I’ll leave this one to you.”

 

“That’s fine by me,” Leo answered. “I’ll take good care of him.”

 

“You better,” Rafinha said, his eyes glinting with amusement, yet a few seconds of silence followed as Leo and Rafinha stared at each other. Neymar glanced from one another confusedly, until Rafinha’s face broke into a conniving smile. “Now, who wants to see pictures of Neymar dressed as a cow?”

 

Ah, how wrong had he been not to fear that encounter.

 

 

–

 

 

As Marcos had predicted, Agüero eventually found out that Karina was a lesbian, but it still took them by surprise.

 

Neymar and Marcos were in the storage room, putting boxes away while Neymar waited for Leo. He’d been “needed” a few hours ago, which usually meant mafia business, but he’d promised to come back. Neymar had overheard things about Italians and old ladies, but unless Leo was planning a trip to Italy he had no interest in knowing what that had been about.

 

Marcos was in the midst of mocking his arms for being ‘ _ridiculously_ _skinny_ ’ when the door slammed open and a round ball of fury stormed into the room.

 

Neymar recognized Agüero, but his job here was done and he should have left minutes ago. Yet here he was, snarling in Marcos’s face and holding onto the collar of his shirt. He looked angrier than Neymar had ever seen him before, and without knowing why Neymar knew that _this_ was serious.

 

He sat stiffly on a sturdy box, watching the scene and praying for Marcos not to work the little one up. If it got dirty there was no way Neymar could break them apart.

 

“You knew, you fucking _knew_ ,” Agüero snarled. His fists were shaking from how hard he was clenching them and his body was tense and rigid like it’d been turned to stone. His face was red and his eyes were murderous. He looked ready to kill.

 

“Knew what? There are lots of things I know that you don’t – comes with having a brain.” Marcos mocked, but Neymar could tell he was warier than usual. Something was definitely weird in Agüero’s demeanor.

 

“ _Karina_ ,” Agüero hissed, and suddenly his behavior made sense.

 

“Oh, you mean that she’s into pussies and that you’re kinda lacking one?” Marcos answered nonchalantly. “Of course I know.”

 

“ _La concha de tu madre_ , you let me believe- made a fool out of _me_ -”

 

“Correction,” Marcos interrupted, leaning down menacingly until his forehead almost touched Agüero’s. He didn’t seem intent on backing down. “ _You_ made a fool out of yourself.”

 

Agüero’s whole body started shaking with the intensity of his anger.

 

“Don’t think I’ll let you get away with this one _forro_ , you’re a filthy bastard, all this time--”

 

“What? Shouldn’t you be glad she doesn’t have a pimp?”

 

“-that’s not the fucking matter here asshole--”

 

“You’re right. Maybe her girlfriend _is_ her pimp after all, I never did ask.”

 

“Shut up!” Agüero shouted, and while Marcos kept silent he also stared him down haughtily, chin held high in defiance. “You mocked me!” Agüero continued. “You had fun didn’t you? Letting me believe I had a chance with her but all this time you knew- you fucking _knew_ -”

 

“How is that my fault?”

 

“You played with me. You mocked my feelings. Shit, I bet everyone in here knows and you’ve all watched me and had your fun while-”

 

“Oh snap out of it,” Marcos said, annoyance clear into his voice. He never was a patient one. “That’s your own fucking fault. If you’d stopped one second and actually talked to the woman you claim to love, instead of watching her from afar like a fucking psycho-- she never asked for help or hid she loved pussies, and if you’d _deigned_ to talk to her for more than a minute you’d have known that already.”

 

Those were harsh words, but Neymar understood what Marcos meant, because who did Agüero even love if he didn’t know Karina? Apart from the fantasy he had of her.

 

Agüero’s body had stopped trembling, and his mouth was wide open, about to protest, but no words came out. Neymar expected Agüero to explode after that, to erupt in a fury and blow in Marcos’s face. He thought he was about to witness a bloody murder, a slaughter, and he seized his phone, held it tight in his hand ready to call the police at the first sign of violence.

 

And yet.

 

“I-” Agüero started. Stopped. Tried again. “I.” He blinked, then blinked again, and with horror, Neymar watched as tears started running down his cheeks.

 

Holy cow.

 

Marcos seemed taken aback, losing his fighting stance even though Agüero’s fist was still wrenched in his t-shirt, but his eyes weren’t really looking at Marcos anymore.

 

“I just-” Agüero tried again, his voice wet with tears. “I didn’t-”

 

He let go of Marcos, falling back fully on the sole of his feet and lowering his head. His body started shaking silently. Neymar could see how tense his jaw was, but it didn’t look like it was Marcos he was angry at now.

 

“Because I-” Agüero’s voice was strangled but here he was trying again, and it was sad to witness, sad enough that Neymar wanted to tell him to stop trying.

 

“It’s ok you know,” Marcos said, his voice softer than Neymar had ever heard it. “If you fall in love easily. But there is way too many prejudice in that thick head of yours.”

 

Marcos flicked Agüero’s forehead playfully, making him stare up at him. Neymar wasn’t sure this was the right time to antagonize the poor guy.

 

“You-” Agüero protested the gesture, but before he could say anything more, Marcos bent down and pressed his lips against his.

 

From where he sat, Neymar could see Agüero’s eyes, wide-open and stunned. Just like Neymar’s.

 

The kiss didn’t last more than a few seconds, and then Marcos stood back to his full height, ruffled Agüero’s head and nodded at Neymar.

 

“Let’s go Ney, I heard the door open and I think your man’s back.”

 

“My- Uh,” Neymar looked wildly from Agüero to Marcos to the door-- how had he even heard anything when Neymar himself could focus on nothing more than the fact he’d fucking _kissed_ Agüero.

 

Said man was standing frozen in the middle of room, mouth gaping and cheeks wet. Poor guy. Must be confused.

 

Neymar wasn’t sure it was a good idea to leave him alone but he wasn’t Agüero’s friend and neither was Marcos. Neither of them would be helpful if they stayed there, and so he trailed after Marcos, glancing back a few times at Agüero’s frozen figure.

 

When they reached the bar, Leo was there, looking around for them.

 

“Ah Ney,” he said when he saw them approach. Then he frowned. “Everything alright? You look shaken.”

 

“It’s just- Agüero, uh-”

 

“Kun?” Leo interrupted, and his face took on a serious, dangerous edge. “Did something happen to Kun?”

 

“Yes. I mean no, um-”

 

Thankfully, Marcos broke in. “He just learned that the woman he loves is into girls. Heartbreak, that kind of things you know?”

 

Neymar looked warily at Marcos but he decided not to mention the kiss. He did intend to talk to him about it though.

 

“Oh.” Leo’s shoulders dropped. “Um. Yeah, can’t be helped then,” he muttered.

 

Neymar snorted. “You looked ready to kill at the thought he was harmed but since it’s about _feelings_ you’re not going to do anything?”

 

Leo frowned. “I can’t do anything. I’m not good at-” he gestured at nothing, and Neymar guessed that was a good metaphor for his knowledge of relationship and human interactions. “I wouldn’t be of any help.”

 

“But I think he needs you,” Neymar insisted. “He was- crying,” Neymar dropped, then bit his lips because maybe this was a private matter. Certainly, Leo seemed startled. “I think you should comfort him.”

 

“Not to meddle but,” Marcos butted in, meddling. “I’m with the skinny guy on this one. I’ll walk your boy home, you take care of your friend. I don’t think he needs much, just be there and he’ll be thankful; that’s how easy this dumbass is.”

 

_Seems to know an awful lot about Agüero considering they fight all the time_ , Neymar thought. Oh, he did need to have that talk with Marcos.

 

Leo didn’t look confident about this one but he nodded and headed to the backroom anyway, his steps hesitant but he was trying, at least.

 

Neymar waited until they’d exited Uranus and were alone in the streets to shout what was on his mind.

 

“You _kissed_ him?”

 

Marcos shrugged.

 

“No but-- _why_. _Why_ did you kiss him?”

 

“I wanted to. His lips are rather soft,” Marcos mused.

 

“I don’t care about whether his lips are soft or not, why would you- _ooh_.”

 

“ _Oooh_ ,” Marcos repeated mockingly.

 

“So you like, dig him?”

 

Marcos hummed.

 

“Well shit. I would never have guessed.”

 

“That’s because you’re stupid,” Marcos reasoned. “It doesn’t matter anyway; nothing will come out of it. I just wanted to keep his mind off of it. Worked rather well didn’t it?” he grinned, looking self-satisfied.

 

“I guess so,” Neymar said doubtfully. “But shit man. _Agüero_. Why would you get a crush on a guy who hates you?”

 

“Why would get a crush on a guy who’s too constipated to hug you back?” Marcos countered, and Neymar yelped indignantly. “Whatever man, hell if I know.”

 

Before they parted way, Neymar still couldn’t hold back a last, “But man, Agüero? He looks like a fucking _cow_.” And Marcos’s laughter rang in his ears long after he’d fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where everyone fights with everyone because none of them learned how to communicate.


	7. don't love him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter warning : violence, sexual content**
> 
> I'm quite sorry I couldn't update earlier, but alas I was busy. Originally I had planned to finish this fic in November, but I guess I'll finish it for Christmas after all ^^ The next weeks are going to be a bit busy for me - mid-terms are coming - but there's only one chapter left and I'm definitely going to wrap this story up!  
> Also, I usually answer comments when posting a new chapter, but it's getting quite late so I'll have to postpone this until tomorrow. That said, enjoy !

Leo had bags under his eyes when he took a seat at his bar.

 

Neymar glanced at Agüero’s silhouette as it slipped in the backroom, then peered curiously at Leo’s tired face.

 

“How did it go?”

 

“Awful.”

 

“That bad?”

 

“He talked to me _all night_ ,” Leo answered. “All night. About his feelings, and- things like that. It was just. So tiring,” Leo complained, rubbing his palms against his eyes.

 

Neymar giggled. “And here I thought something bad had happened.” He grinned and reached for Leo’s head, gently threading his fingers through black strands. “There there. I’m proud of you.”

 

“Fuck off,” Leo said, but he didn’t shake his hand off so Neymar didn’t stop petting his head.

 

 

–

 

 

Working with Agüero was a bit awkward, to say the least. He’d expected Agüero to jump on Marcos, finally back to his senses after the shock of yesterday’s kiss and ready to go to war, yet instead, Agüero was carefully avoiding Marcos.

 

When they asked him about it, Leo shrugged and declared that it was useless trying to understand Kun.

 

Agüero served the customers when asked, cleaned the tables that emptied, doing his job without protesting, without glaring towards the bar but without smiling either. He seemed completely out of it, lost in his own world. He would sometimes be caught gazing at Marcos, pensively.

 

“For real,” Leo repeated. “ _Don’_ _t_ ask me what Kun’s thinking.  I don’t know _shits_.”

 

 

–

 

 

“I insist.” Neymar repeated for the umpteenth time in the short car-ride.

 

Pique was driving, pretending not to listen in to their conversation but Neymar could see his wide grin in the rear view mirror.

 

“I really don’t need to have lunch with your, um, family.”

 

“For the last time,” Leo said. “This isn’t a family lunch. You invited yourself over for lunch.”

 

“I didn’t know your family would be there! I thought there would be just the two of us. Not that I would end up sitting at a table with your brother that hates me, the other one who scares me, and that tall fuck in the front that keeps making fun of me.”

 

Pique laughed manically from the front seat.

 

“It’s my family, of course I’d be having eating with them. That should have been obvious.”

 

“Yeah well,” Neymar mumbled. “It _wasn’t_.”

 

It was already too late, and there was no way for Neymar to jump out of the car to run away. He resolved to his fate, watching as they reached a street that looked way too calm not to be suspicious, even more so when you took into account the unlikely number of black cars with tinted windows parked there.

 

“Grow up a bit will you,” Neymar muttered after realizing Leo was too short for Neymar to hide behind him.

 

“You’re barely any taller than me,” Leo pointed out.

 

“Says the man who is still inches smaller than me.”

 

The meal was as dreadful as Neymar had imagined.

 

His saving grace was the food, who tasted nothing short of delicious, giving Neymar the opportunity to stuff his mouth and gesture apologetically at his full cheeks whenever someone tried to talk to him.

 

They mostly ended up talking about Italians and drugs and business Neymar had no interest in and he was happy to just eat and observe Leo, for the sole purpose of watching him. He looked rather fine, in a white shirt with the first buttons popped open, his sleeves rolled up and allowing his pink tattoos to peak on his right arm. He looked confident as he talked about things Neymar knew nothing about but that certainly made Leo sound very cool.

 

“Neymar,” a voice called, startling him out of his reverie. He looked around wildly until his eyes fell on Mascherano’s expecting eyes and _god_ , he’d talked to him, Neymar had no idea what he wanted.

 

“Yes,” he yelped.

 

“Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?” Mascherano asked, a question Neymar wasn’t sure he could say no to. “We’ve barely talked but now you’re Leo’s boyfriend. I’d like to know more about you.”

 

He was also pretty sure Mascherano had a file somewhere with more information on himself than Neymar ever remembered.

 

“I, I’m Neymar? I come from Brazil and-- I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “Is this forbidden? Is there sort of a like, ‘no relationship before marriage’ rule? Is this a pure-blood thing?”

 

Pique laughed next to him but Neymar could stare at no one but Mascherano, terrified.

 

“There’s no such thing,” Leo muttered, drawing Neymar’s attention to him and what a relief that was not to have to stare at the bald man anymore. “Leave him alone Masche, you know he’s scared.”

 

“I’m not scared,” Neymar protested.

 

“You are,” Mascherano pointed out, but he seemed to gracefully accept to drop the subject, turning back to Agüero to tell him to finish his plate.

 

The man had been eerily quiet, spacing out and staring off in the distance, barely touching his food. Leo said it was common nowadays, and Neymar guessed getting over a crush couldn’t be done in two weeks. He kind of felt sorry for the man,  although he privately rejoiced at not being glared at while he ate.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar only felt safe once he was in Leo’s room. He threw himself on his bed and sighed in relief.

 

“I thought I was going to die.”

 

“Don’t be silly,” Leo said. He took of his shoes before joining Neymar to lay on the bed.

 

“I’m not stupid! He threatened me.”

 

“He asked for the salt.”

 

“He _threatened_ me.”

 

Leo laughed next to him, a smile on his face and dimples on his cheeks. He looked peaceful.

 

“If your brother is like that, I don’t ever want to meet your dad,” Neymar complained. 

 

He only realized what he’d said after the words had already left his mouth, and as Leo tensed up at his side, there was nothing Neymar could besides mentally flagellate himself.

 

Silence fell heavily between them.

 

“I’m not-” Neymar swallowed, throat dry. “You don’t have a dad, right?”

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Say, is-” His palms were sweaty and he rubbed several times on his jeans to dry them. “Is it true that you were born-”

 

He didn’t even have the time to finish his sentence.

 

“Shut up,” Leo ordered, voice cold as ice. “That’s none of your business.”

 

Neymar snapped his mouth shut and tried to be as still as possible. Leo’s tense body and curt tone was a blow to his confidence, because _god_ how could he have forgotten Leo was supposedly born in a brothel? What kind of boyfriend forgot this kind of thing?

 

He stayed silent, like Leo had asked, staring at the ceiling and damning himself and his mouth for every words they’d ever spoken.

 

Leo didn’t move either, unmoving and tense at his sides.

 

It took a good ten minutes before Leo spoke up again. Neymar first felt a soft touch against the back of his hand, then Leo’s hoarse, tired voice :

 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

 

Neymar exhaled deeply, brushing his fingers back against Leo’s.

 

“I’ll tell you,” Leo continued. “ButI can’t right now.”

 

Neymar linked their fingers together.

 

“I can’t right now,” Leo repeated, squeezing his hand back.

 

 

–

 

 

Given that Agüero didn’t work at Uranus everyday, it took them all two weeks to figure out what was going on with him. Actually, the revelation came from Karina herself.

 

Neymar was at his bar as usual, Leo and Marcos criticizing his efforts to create a new cocktail that he’d be able to legitimately name after himself.

 

“Hey boys,” Karina greeted, sliding in a stool next to Leo. “Can I have something?” she asked Neymar.

 

“How’s work today?” Marcos asked conversationally, andas he set on making Karina a drink he didn’t miss how Leo frowned as the chosen topic of conversation.

 

“Bo-ring,” Karina answered. “Men don’t have any imagination,” she sighed. Noticing their collective look of protest she added, “Don’t fight me on this boys, you’d lose.”

 

Neymar gave her a _Neymar on the beach_ and Karina laughed. Neymar liked her. S he got his jokes.

 

“Though I gotta tell you – I learned some good gossip today.”

 

Marcos leaned in, always eager for gossip.

 

“Tell us,” he said, grinning.

 

Karina smiled back. “You,” she said, pushing a finger against Marcos’s chest. “Are you aware that Kun got a crush on you?”

 

The smile froze on Marcos’s face.

 

“What?”

 

“Yep,” Karina nodded. “He said so himself. It was so cute, he looked all embarrassed and stuff.”

 

“Are we talking about the same person here?” Neymar butted in. “Small man, fat ass?”

 

Karina laughed. “Don’t be mean! He’s cute. And he’s got a crush on you~,” she sang, a mischievous smile on her face as she looked up at Marcos.

 

“Hm,” Marcos said eloquently. For once, he looked at a loss of words.

 

“Think about it darling,” Karina said, winking before she grabbed her drink and sauntered away.

 

Once she was gone, silence fell on the three of them.

 

“Leo,” Neymar started. “Leo what-”

 

“I told you,” Leo mumbled. “I don’t know _shits_ about what Kun’s thinking.”

 

“But he hated him two weeks ago!”

 

“That was two weeks ago,” Leo shrugged. “Kun’s easy; it wouldn’t be the worst he’s ever done.”

 

“I can’t believe it,” Marcos said, letting his head drop between his hands. “What the hell is wrong with your friend?”

 

Neymar thought back to Agüero’s behavior these past weeks – the shy glances, the general lack of animosity and the frequent glances towards Marcos. It made sense, but _damn_ , just because Marcos had kissed him? Who the hell was so easy?

 

“Kun,” Leo answered his question. “That’s who.”

 

 

–

 

 

“Dani!” Neymar shouted, his face filling the screen.

 

“Move your skinny ass,” Rafinha said, pushing his head away with his palm. “Hi Dani,” he told the camera, a fake sweet smile on his face.

 

Dani laughed on his laptop screen.

 

“It’s good to see you two! Sit next to each other so I can see you both.”

 

Neymar and Rafinha sat side by side diligently, grinning as Dani studied them on the screen. His eyes were as warm and mischievous as the last time Neymar had seen him. The only change seemed to be new tattoos on his arms – some black and white pattern and a sentence in Italian. Dani always had such cool tattoos.

 

“What’s new little bros?”

 

“I got a boyfriend,” Neymar announced before Rafinha could say anything. He smiled proudly.

 

“Ooooh?” Dani leaned forward. “A boyfriend? Do I know him?”

 

“No,” Neymar shook his head. “I met him at uh-- a part-time job. His name is Leo. He’s really cool.”

 

“Short,” Rafinha piped in. “He’s really short.”

 

“Shut up. He’s not very tall but he’s not _that_ short.”

 

Dani laughed at their antics. “You two are like cats and dogs. Be good boys, I don’t have much time.”

 

“Well I got a boyfriend too,” Rafinha offered, relaxing back into his chair.

 

“What now?” Neymar asked, startled. “Who? Since when?”

 

“Marc. Since last Thursday.”

 

“That’s-- you _fucker_.”

 

Dani laughed loudly. “Oh, you two have so many things to tell me!”

 

 

–

 

 

As it turned out, Rafinha had been going out with Marc-André for a week. In that week, they’d went on two dates, Marc had bought him tickets for a concert, he’d met Rafinha’s brother, Rafa had met his parents, and they’d had sex two times.

 

“This is absolutely unfair,” Neymar said, horrified and jealous at his friend’s promiscuity.

 

Rafinha had of course not stopped laughing since he’d learned Neymar hadn’t yet found his way to Leo’s dick.

 

“Stop laughing you asshole.”

 

“Never,” Rafinha said, _still_ laughing.

 

Neymar slumped back into his chair. He had to wait several minutes before his friend calmed down.

 

“But really man, why haven’t you fucked yet?”

 

“If only I knew,” Neymar bemoaned. “I don’t get it.” He bit his lips. “Maybe he doesn’t want me.”

 

“ _Yeaaah_ ,” Rafinha trailed off sarcastically. “He doesn’t want you, that totally explains why he got jealous when he thought we were going out.”

 

Neymar inner self blushed. His outer self frowned. “He can _like_ me but not _want_ me.”

 

Rafinha rolled his eyes. “Give me your phone.”

 

“Why?” Neymar asked defensively.

 

“Just give me,” Rafinha said, snatching it from his hands.

 

Neymar glanced curiously at his friend, trying to see over his shoulder as he typed something, but Rafinha was done too quickly for Neymar to stop him.

 

“There sent,” he said, throwing his phone back into his lap.

 

“What did you do?” Neymar asked, quickly looking through his phone to his last sent texts.

 

“Asked your boyfriend if he found you attractive.”

 

And indeed on the screen, Neymar could read a text that spelled, _do u think im pretty?_

 

He flushed. “Holy fuck you asshole, you can’t sent that--” he screeched,horrified and panicked.

 

His phone buzzed and Neymar threw it away, yelping.

 

“Is that him?” Rafinha asked **.**

 

“I don’t know!” Neymar shrieked.

 

“That was fast,” Rafinha commented. He tried to reach for his phone but Neymar slapped his wrist.

 

Rafa huffed. “Well look at it then.”

 

“I will! I am! Shut up!”

 

His heart thundered in his ribcage when he seized his phone and turned it over, turning on his screen to read his last received message from-

 

“My internet provider,” he deadpanned, and felt Rafinha face-plant on the bed. “Special offer on netflix.”

 

“Fuck’s sake,” Rafinha cursed. “This is so disappointing.”

 

Neymar moaned and fell back down on his bed next to Rafa, burying his face in his pillow.

 

 

–

 

 

It took three hours, twenty-two minutes and forty seconds for Leo to answer.

 

Three hours, twenty-two minutes and forty seconds that Neymar lived in fear, wondering whether he should sent a _haha just joking_ text every two seconds.

 

Three hours, twenty-two minutes and forty seconds and Neymar should have been angry, but all his fears dissipated when he _did_ receive Leo’s answer.

 

It was nothing more than a simple, _yes_ , but it was enough to make Neymar’s heart flutter.

 

_He thinks I’m pretty_. Neymar giggled and held his phone close to himself, like a secret meant for no one but him.

 

 

–

 

 

“Why the face?” Marcos asked. “You look sickeningly happy.”

 

“Leo thinks I’m pretty,” he announced, proudly.

 

Marcos lifted an eyebrow. “That’s it? Dude, I could have told you that. _Anyone_ could have told you that.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Marcos snorted. “Come on, everyone knows Messi’s dating a pretty boy from the city.”

 

“A pretty boy from the city,” Neymar repeated quizzically.

 

“That’s how they call you. Because you’re not from this world.”

 

“Couldn’t they call me Neymar.”

 

“Dude I like you, but outside of this place no one knows your name. And come on, ‘pretty boy from the city’ sounds way cooler than Neymar.”

 

“Uh.” Neymar’s brows furrowed. “You’re-”

 

Someone cleared its throat and they both turned towards the newcomer, coming face to face with the Deadly Midgets duo, starring Lionel Messi and Sergio Agüero.

 

Leo made his way to his usual seat but Agüero seemed rooted in place, right in front of Marcos.

 

“Marcos,” Agüero said, and Neymar pretended not to watch, busying himself with making Leo a coffee. “Can I talk to you?”

 

“Sure. Not like you to ask before talking to me eh?” Marcos joked.

 

Agüero frowned, looking predictably confused. “If you don’t have the time I can- **”**

 

“No I do-” Marcos interrupted. “I do, just. Tell me, what’s up?”

 

Agüero still looked confused and lost as to the meaning of Marcos’s words, and Neymar kept himself from mooing.

 

“I was wondering, I dunno,” Agüero mumbled, shuffling. “If you were free on Tuesday?”

 

“Tuesday,” Marcos repeated.

 

“Yeah. We could see a movie, I dunno,” Agüero trailed off hesitantly.

 

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

 

Agüero nodded.

 

“Ok,” Marcos answered. “Sure.”

 

A smile started spreading over Agüero’s lips, and this may have been the fist time Neymar saw him smile in his vicinity. He looked dumbly happy, round face split by white teeth and the tip of his hair buzzing with joy.

 

Neymar waited until Agüero had wandered away to walk closer to Marcos and talk to him.

 

“Do you think he says _moo_ when he climaxes?”

 

He barely managed to avoid Marco’s punch.

 

 

–

 

 

In the end, it happened without planning, like those sort of things were bound to happen.

 

It was raining cats and dogs when Leo walked him home, and by the time they’d reached Neymar’s dorm they were both drenched all the way to their underwear, Neymar laughing even while he tried to protect his phone from the rain.

 

He invited Leo in to find shelter from the storm and gave him a towel to dry himself.

 

Neymar didn’t really think. He took off his clothes, struggling to take off his clothes as they were all unreasonably stuck to his body. Once he’d managed to undress, he grabbed a towel for himself and started drying his hair energetically.

 

“Say,” he started, turning around to offer Leo some new clothes. “Do you need-”

 

And he cut himself off without needing to be asked.

 

Leo had taken his shirt off, and his skin looked deadly pale. His hair was wet, drops of water traveling down his chest. He was breathing calmly, his stomach heaving up and down, and his eyes were focused on Neymar’s body like Neymar was a prey and Leo a predator. His eyes ran down the length of his thighs, gauging his abs, detailing his tattoos and making a prolonged stop at his nipples. Neymar shivered, all too aware his nipples had been made hard by the cold rain.

 

Leo’s eyes ended their travel on his face, making a lengthy stop on his lips. Leo didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. He kept breathing, in and out, calm and serene. His eyes were that of a hawk but he made no move to catch his prey, and so Neymar decided to make the first step. And the second step. And all the steps after that, until he was right in front of Leo, looking down into his dark dark eyes.

 

He lifted his hand hesitantly, afraid Leo would back off. He didn’t. Neymar didn’t waste this chance. He dived in at once, crashing his lips against Leo’s. He was messy and rough, trying to flush his body against Leo’s and backing him into the wall in the process. He kissed him desperately, whining when Leo deigned kiss back, only to do so slowly, like they had the time, like he hadn’t got the memo that Neymar was really fucking eager.

 

It didn’t deter Neymar from giving this kiss all he had, passionate and lustful and wet. He grabbed onto Leo’s body, enjoying the way his muscles felt under his fingers, hard and firm. Leo’s hands weren’t doing much of anything, politely on his hips, and this was so frustrating Neymar couldn’t help nibbling on Leo’s lip in protest.

 

Leo tsked, pinching his skin ever so slightly and making Neymar whimper, but it did nothing to prevent him from from kissing Leo’s jaw, licking and sucking as Leo unhelpfully stayed passive as a statue.

 

“Do something,” Neymar begged, his moist hands leaving wet hand-prints on Leo’s body.

 

“What do you want?” Leo asked. God, Neymar had no idea how he could sound so calm.

 

“Fuck me.”

 

“Is that what you want?” Leo asked as Neymar tried to paint a constellation of red dots on his neck.

 

“ _O_ _bviously_ ,” he whined.

 

“Then first of all-” Leo’s hold on him became tight and all of sudden Neymar had been turned around and slammed into the wall, pinned by Leo’s hands on his hips. “I’m in charge.”

 

The shock wasn’t that violent, but Neymar still felt like he still got the wind knocked out of him. A thrill ran thorough his whole body, a mix of excitement and dread that went straight to his dick, made him curl his toes in the carpet, made him pliant in Leo’s arms.

 

Leo ran a finger down his chest, letting it trail over his abs and tease his nipples. His eyes followed the exact same path as his digit, slowly descending and ascending upon his skin, brushing past Neymar’s underwear cruelly. Neymar moaned in earnest.

 

He obviously intended to take his time and Neymar hated it and loved it in equal measures.

 

The cruel finger wandered up to his face, pressed against his lips, his jaw, until Leo’s palm rested on his cheek. He held his head and leaned in slowly.

 

He kissed him lazily at first, taking his time to taste and biting Neymar in punishment every time he tried to urge him on.

 

Leo’s second hand was mapping his body, pressing against his belly to feel his muscles, slipping the tips of his fingers past the waistband of his boxer briefs, massaging along his spine, rubbing against his clothed buttocks, letting a finger press in the crack teasingly.

 

Neymar moaned helplessly. Leo wasn’t allowing Neymar to touch him, pressing his hands back against the wall every time one of the curious limbs tried to make a move.

 

Leo’s mouth detached from his, leaving a trail of saliva behind that dripped down Neymar’s chin. He kissed the corner of his lips, his cheek, pressing heavy kisses all the way down to his neck. He forced his head to the side with one hand before he started sucking hickeys on his neck. He’d sometimes let his teeth scrape against his skin, making Neymar shudder with a mix of pain and arousal that Neymar decided to call painal. Then he thought better of it and decided he wasn’t in the right mind to be naming anything – not when Leo was touching him and kissing him like that.

 

Leo’s hand departed from his ass, his finger sliding against his ass-crack, making Neymar arch after its touch. Leo’s hand reappeared on his chest, a thumb settling on playing with his nipple, rubbing the bud and pinching it to make Neymar moan. His hips bucked forward. Leo tutted.

 

Neymar was hard, painfully hard, his body a thread Leo was playing and he felt _this_ close to  snapping under the pressure.

 

“D-do you plane on _uh_ fucking me any time s _oooo_ -oon?” Neymar stuttered despite his best efforts.

 

“Shush,” Leo chastised him, the hint of his teeth on his jaw as he moved to his earlobe. “You let me handle it,” he said, an order, that had Neymar moaning embarrassingly. His voice reached some high notes when Leo took his earring between his teeth and tugged.

 

Leo’s hand wandered down, departing from his sorry excuse from a nipple to rest on his hips. His thumbs caressed his hip bone, right over the fabric of his underwear. Neymar tried to shift his hips or buck up, anything to get Leo closer to where it mattered.

 

But Leo’s grip on him was too strong and Neymar pathetically found he liked it.

 

Leo kept playing with his earrings, and Neymar decided he had enough and he wanted to touch, too.

 

He wanted to touch Leo’s chest and lick from his collar bone to his belly-button. He wanted to scratch red marks into Leo’s pale skin and grip his biceps until it bruised. He wanted to stroke Leo’s sides and see if he was ticklish. He wanted to stare at his brown fingers against Leo’s white skin and marvel at how good it looked. He wanted to shove his hands in Leo’s pants and get acquainted with that part of Leo he’d never seen yet. He wanted to pull his hair, to trace his curves, to map his muscles, but he only had two hands and limited brain cells capacity, and so he resorted to latching onto Leo’s ass, reaching for his buttocks like there was no tomorrow.

 

“I’m never letting go,” Neymar mumbled, to make sure they were both on the same page here. Leo huffed, either amused, or annoyed, or both.

 

“You’ll let go when I tell you to let go,” Leo answered hotly into his ear, his voice hoarse and Neymar saw white.

 

“Stop talking,” he asked breathlessly. “If you keep this on, I’ll come so quickly you won’t see it coming.”

 

Leo drew back to appraise the look on his face. 

 

“You’re serious aren’t you,” he mused.

 

Leo’s hand left his hips and deft fingers traced his dick through the fabric of his briefs. Neymar gasped loudly. The touch was so light it almost tickled him, sending shivers down his spine and giving him goose-bumps over his naked arms.

 

Neymar moved his arms to Leo’s shoulders. He held onto him and his toes curled into the carpet as Leo petted him over his boxer briefs. His nails dug into Leo’s skin, desperate for _something_ but Leo was holding his hips tightly and prevented him from bucking up.

 

After a while, Leo relented, allowing Neymar to grind against his open palms for a few seconds, before he pushed him back again, hooking a few fingers in the waistband of his boxer. He pulled down, letting the fabric slide along his hips and down his legs until it fell, pooling around his feet. Neymar kicked the cloth away. Leo’s hand gently reached for the head of his penis, collecting the pre-cum and rubbing it between his fingers. They both looked down when Leo’s hand closed around Neymar’s dick, his strong fist against Neymar’s thin shaft, his white skin against Neymar’s brown one, his sturdy self against Neymar’s trembling body.

 

Neymar moaned loudly, his hips moving uncontrollably towards Leo’s hand. But Leo kept him firmly against the wall and drew his hand back, choosing to follow a vein with his finger instead, the digit gliding over Neymar’s shaft in a teasing, cruel manner.

 

Leo traced the contours of his dick, from the tip to the base, gently and carefully, petting his cock like one would pet a dog. Neymar felt like he could see his dick trying to stretch uselessly after the finger that was leaving it. He spared a thought for the vain efforts of his long-time friend.

 

When Leo wrapped a hand around his shaft again, Neymar had to close his eyes. He felt dizzy, shaky on his legs. He leaned heavily against Leo’s frame, stuck between the wall and Leo’s broad, robust body.

 

“Leo,” he moaned, voice muffled in Leo’s skin. “ _Leo Leo_.”

 

Leo hummed in acknowledgment, stroking his cock lazily.

 

“Leo,” Neymar insisted, to no avail.

 

Yet as lazy as Leo was being, as much as he was taking his time, brushing his thumb over the slit, squeezing the base to make him squirm, it did nothing to deter Neymar’s body from being close to completion. He’d never lasted that long and Leo’s persistent teasing wasn’t helping in the least.

 

“ _Leo_ ,” he repeated, trying to convey a warning he couldn’t voice.

 

“Shh,” Leo blew into his ear. “Let go.”

 

And Neymar did – he let go, abandoning himself to Leo’s hand and spilling over his own chest, arching his back and gasping his name. His toes curled into the carpet, trying to anchor him somewhere to keep him from fainting as Leo milked the last drop of semen out of his dick. He slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, too hot too cold too light too heavy all at once.

Leo took a step back to look at him and Neymar promptly slid down the wall, landing on the floor in what he would later deem a dramatic move.

 

He did nothing but pant for several seconds, his body hot but covered by a layer of cold sweat. He looked up at Leo – his black eyes were staring him down, attentive and watchful. Leo stood, strong and confident, while Neymar was naked, dirty with his own sperm, sprawled on the floor leisurely. He wasat Leo’s mercy and it felt amazing.

 

Leo crouched down in front of him, tilting his head questionningly.

 

“m fine,” Neymar answered, slurring. “’m young. I be back in a minute.”

 

Leo raised a skeptical eyebrow.

 

“Wut?” Neymar had trouble articulating properly. “It true.”

 

Leo smiled fondly, leaning down to press a chaste kiss against Neymar’s lips.

 

“Do you want to stop there?” he asked.

 

Neymar faked a gasp. “You might be old but I’m peaking,” he answered. “Give Junior a minute and he’ll be ready to go again.”

 

“Junior uh?” Leo repeated, lifting an eyebrow. “Let’s see what he can do then,” Leo said, a feral grin on his face that had Neymar shiver with apprehension and shudder with anticipation.

 

 

–

 

 

The TV was on in the background, showing an early game between two Liga teams that neither him nor Leo seemed really interested in.

 

Neymar was barely paying any attention to the game, his feet on the coffee table so he could properly shave his legs and lament about having been hairy when he’d finally had sex with Leo. His leg hairs were short, spiky little things that had to feel absolutely awful whenever Leo had touched his legs – which had happened to be often.

 

“Unbelievable,” Neymar muttered once again, sliding the blade over his knee and cursing when he, once again, cut himself. He was clumsy on a good day but this day wasn’t like every other – he was sore but he felt at east, and also he had had sex with Leo and he’d woken up against him and they’d eaten breakfast together and he had every reasons to be clumsy. He rubbed the blood off before angrily resuming his work.

 

“I really don’t mind,” Leo mumbled.

 

“Don’t try to be nice, I know if feels itchy.” Neymarcut his knee again and cursed. “ _Filho da puta_. ”

 

“Are you insulting your own leg?” Leo wondered. “I’m not being nice, I really don’t mind. You don’t have to shave for me.”

 

Neymar nodded, a pleasant feeling coursing through his body. He applied the razor against his skin more carefully this time. He nodded. “But I like it better that way,” he said.

 

“Whatever you want,” Leo shrugged, observingNeymar’s sad skills from the corner of his eyes.

 

“Here,” Leo poked him when he made a risky move again. “Give it to me.”

 

“What?” Neymar asked, incredulous as Leo took the razor from his hands.

 

“Put your feet on my lap.”

 

“What?”

 

Leo patted his thigh and Neymar hesitantly turned towards him. Leo grabbed his ankle and pulled it against his inner thigh. Leo’s thighs were fat and muscled and Neymar couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy that sensation under the sole of his feet.

 

“Give me the cream.”

 

Neymar handed it to him silently, hardly believing _Lionel Messi_ , super small mafia ninja and part-time manga character was offering to _shave_ him.

 

Leo carefully brushed his thumb against the few cuts he’d acquired, bending over to lick the cuts.

 

“What if I have aids.”

 

“Do you have aids?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then it’s fine.”

 

Neymar scrunched up his nose. “That isn’t a satisfactory answer.”

 

Leo smiled at him mirthfully before squishing a generous amount of white foam onto his palm, that he then spread meticulously over his calf. He made sure he’d gotten every patch of skin before he brought the razor down.

 

Neymar stared for several minutes in silence as Leo shaved him, wed g ing the blad e smoothly, so softly Neymar barely felt it  a gainst his skin, like a whisper or the wind blowing softly against  leg . Leo was careful,  focused on nothing else but Neymar’s leg, impervious to everything else and Neymar wasn’t even sure he’d noticed his stare until Leo spoke up again, answering a question Neymar hadn’t yet asked.

 

“I used to help the prostitutes, when I was little.”

 

“In the brothel where you were born,” Neymar added hesitantly, less a statement than a question.

 

Leo flattened his palm on his skin to catch every little hair with his razor. He nodded.

 

“Born and raised,” he said, smiling. “I never thought _this_ was a skill that would ever come in handy.”

 

“Did you-” Neymar swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Did you help your mom shave too?”

 

“I did anything that could make her life easier. I owe everything to her.”

 

Neymar pressed his foot harder against Leo’s thigh.

 

“Actually, there are so many people I owe my life too,” Leo continued, sliding the razor expertly over his skin. “My mom, Teodolinda, Lucy, _Abuela_ , Abril… So many people and they all died before I could begin to pay any of them back.”

 

Leo pushed his calf to see behind it. His face was passive as he worked, even though Neymar already felt breathless.

 

“Kun’s mom died in labor,” Leo said. “My mom took him in, but all the women took care of us. They weren’t many kids there. Lots of them died young, or the girls were made to abort by the _fiolos_. ”

 

“ _Fiolo_ _s_?” Neymar repeated. That wasn’t a Spanish word he’d ever heard.

 

“The pimps.”

 

Ah. He should have guessed as much, Neymar thought as his guts twisted with unease.

 

“Not legal means of abortion,” Leo resumed. “No tender one.” His lips sealed into a thin line, and he moved onto his knee, coating it with shaving cream. “My mom died of an STD. We told the _fiolos_ , tried to have her rest, tried to work to pay for medicine but-- I couldn’t do shit.” He was very careful as he worked around his knee, minding the curves and cuts Neymar had inflicted upon himself. “I was 12. So Masche’s mom took care of the three of us, and we tried to work any way we could to help. But Teodolinda didn’t last either.”

 

Leo brushed his fingers carefully over his knee, making sure he hadn’t made any additional cut and that every hairs had been shaved. His fingers were soft and gentle.

 

“You couldn’t guess how many times we tried to kill the _fiolos_.  But we were kids and we were stupid, and we always got our ass handed back to us.” He seemed satisfied with his word and rinsed the razor in the bowl of water. “I hated them. I hated them so much.”

 

When the blade seemed clean, he grabbed the wet cloth Neymar had prepared and gently cleaned the left-over foam off Neymar’s skin.

 

“They never gave them any rest. Never gave them medicine. They only showed up to take the money and beat the prostitutes. That’s how Masche’s mom went--”

 

Leo put the wet cloth away and ran his hand over his calf, studying his work, his hand sliding easily against his smooth skin.

 

“Internal bleeding,” he said. “So we ended up on our own. He beat her too hard. Me and Kun were 14 but Masche was already 16. Our mothers were gone and we were old enough, so we didn’t have any reason to stay.”

 

Leo leaned down to press a chaste kiss against his knee before grabbing his second ankle, tugging it against his inner-thigh.

 

Neymar wasn’t sure 14 or 16 was old enough for anything.

 

“One night, we had the _f_ _i_ _olos_ come to the whore house while we hid outside. We locked them in and put the building on fire.”

 

Neymar flinched. “What?”

 

Leo grabbed the shaving cream again and started the process of coating his limb with the cold foam again.

 

“We stood back and watched it burn.”

 

Once Neymar’s calf was completely white, Leo took the razor back and pressed it above his ankle before dragging it up with ease.

 

“The prostitutes, where-”

 

“Inside. Everyone died in that fire.”

 

Neymar’s heart was hammering loudly in his chest. “But-”

 

“I know,” Leo cut in. “I know.” He shaved a strip all the way to his knee. “What could we have done? There was no other way out. If we killed these _f_ _i_ _olos_ , they would have been new ones. There was no way out.”

 

Neymar breathed heavily. “But they’d have killed themselves if they thought there was no hope-” he tried, voice shaky. “They’d have-”

 

“I said I know,” Leo repeated, louder. “But that’s how it went. It was our only choice. We drugged them before, so they didn’t hurt. So that the only screams we heard were that of the _fiolos_.”

 

Neymar felt sick, but he didn’t think about pulling away from Leo. He blinked back his tears and kept watching, determined to hear everything Leo had to say.

 

“We knew we couldn’t stay in Argentina anymore,” Leo went on. “Gangs were after us. So Mascherano made us fake IDs and we took a plane to Barcelona.”

 

Leo reached under Neymar’s calf, moving his leg so he could see his hands work, although Neymar had a feeling he could do this with his eyes closed.

 

“He had me and Kun go to school even though we didn’t want to, and he took odd jobs to pay for everything. He worked for gangs, for shady men. Got into the business.”

 

Leo seemed to have finished with his calf, checking his work closely. He took some foam and spread it over his knee.

 

“And when I became 18, we took the city over. Barcelona was ruled by different gangs that fought over territory. We got rid of all of them. And one of the first thing Masche did when he took control of the city was build a _brothel_.”

 

Leo’s lips settled into a frowning line but Neymar could have told from the way he’d said  _ brothel _ that the thing made him upset.

 

“I didn’t agree with that,” Leo confirmed. “Neither did Kun.”

 

“But, doesn’t that make sense? To make sure the prostitute were safe...” he trailed off hesitantly, unsure how to finish his sentence.

 

There was a frown on Leo’s face but his hands were gentle as they shaved the foam off his knee.

 

“No,” he said. “No it doesn’t make sense. We should have killed the _fiolos_. We should have killed the customers. That’s what we should have done. Instead of giving them a place where they could perpetuate their _sin_ -” Leo’s voice was filled with disgust and hatred, so much so that it seized Neymar’s throat, and yet his hands were nothing but gentle.

 

Neymar dug his toes into Leo’s muscled thigh.

 

“But if the prostitute chose to-”

 

“Is it ever a choice?” Leo interrupted.

 

This wasn’t a discussion Neymar was prepared for. He answered, quietly. “At any rate, it isn’t ours to make.”

 

If this wasn’t in Barcelona, this would be somewhere else. Neymar doubted there was a better way to protect the sex workers than to make sure no one could abuse them.

 

Leo exhaled. “I don’t care,” he finally said, grabbing the wet cloth one last time to swipe it over his skin. “I don’t care,” he repeated. “I want them dead.”

 

Neymar inhaled deeply.“I think Mascherano did the right thing.”

 

“He did,” Leo conceded. “I still hate him for it.”

 

“But-”

 

“Neymar,” Leo talked over him, putting the cloth aside. Their eyes finally met. “I know. I know, but I can’t alright? I know it’s fucked up but _I can’t._ ”

 

And there was nothing Neymar could say to that, because he felt sad for Leo as much as he disagreed with his choices. And he was biased, as biased as one could be, and when Leo looked at him like that, resolved to something that was out of his control, resolved to something a 14 year-old had come up with to face his environment, Neymar’s heart ached for him more than anything else.

 

Leo blinked, his eyes slowly making way for concern and confusion.

 

“Are you crying?” he asked

 

Neymar shrugged.

 

Leo frowned, and there were more feelings in his eyes that there had been in the past fifteen minutes. “I don’t want you to cry for me,” he said, looking upset.

 

He reached out, and Neymar thought, this is someone that killed people, someone that tortured men, burned people alive. But this was also Leo, who’d protected him, who’d walked him home every night despite barely knowing him, who’d made himself visit him everyday at Uranus despite legitimately hating the place, who’d killed a man for hurting him and who’d offered him a knife so he could defend himself. This was Leo and he loved Leo.

 

Leo’s hands neared his face and Neymar closed his eyes, leaning in, curling up into Leo’s sides and allowing himself the tears Leo had long since stopped shedding.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar felt so happy and proud he wanted to tell everyone he and Leo had done the do. And since he loved indulging himself, it was exactly what he planned on doing.

 

Yet, when he settled behind his bar where Pocho and Marcos were already sitting, he only managed to open his mouth before Pocho stole his line from him.

 

“Guess who had sex yesterday?” he asked, leaning in mysteriously.

 

“What?” Neymar was shocked, how could he know-

 

“Not Marcos, that’s who,” Pocho said, a wide grin on his face as Marcos groaned.

 

“Will you stop with that already?” he complained, glaring at Pocho.

 

“What do you mean?” Neymar frowned, leaning towards Pocho. His pride could wait after gossips.

 

“He had a date with Kun yesterday, right?”

 

“That’s private,” Marcos protested.

 

“No it isn’t,” Neymar said. “What happened?”

 

“Kun tried to have sex with him and Marcos refused. They slept in the same bed, did nothing, and Marcos made Kun burnt toasts in the morning.”

 

Pocho’s grin widened while Marcos mumbled something about privacy.

 

“You made him toasts,” Neymar repeated. “Wow. Man. I didn’t think you were like, romantic.”

 

“I’m not-”

 

“No need to feel shy,” Pocho interrupted Marcos, sliding a hand on his biceps. “There’s nothing bad about being romantic.”

 

“Shut up.” Marcos slumped in his chair. “You both shut up and give me a drink.”

 

“If it’s any comfort,” Neymar piped in. “I had sex with Leo and it was amazing.”

 

“How is it of any comfort to me?”

 

“Oh it isn’t, I just wanted you to know.”

 

Marcos glared up at him while Pocho burst out laughing, yelling a loud ‘ _congratulations_ _lindo_ _!_ ’ that made Neymar stand up straighter.

 

 

–

 

 

“I don’t get how you can still eat meat,” Neymar said, side-eyeing Marcos. “You’re eating beef. That’s basically like-- eating your boyfriend’s family.”

 

Marcos punched his arm. “Will you shut up about Kun being a cow?”

 

“Only if he stops looking like one.”

 

Marcos laughed, amused by Neymar’s comparisons despite what he said.

 

The both of them were walking to the _blaugrana_ ’s headquarters to bring the benefits back to the boss. Leo had had to attend a meeting and hadn’t yet been to Uranus, but Neymar hoped he’d be done by the time they reached the headquarters so they could walk back to the whorehouse together.

 

As usual, Neymar carried the money in his backpack and the notebook in his underwear, the boss having apparently given up on making him change his habit.

 

Marcos and him kept chatting about dairy products, trading jokes and insults, when Marcos’s face suddenly shut off.

 

“If you see any opening, you run,” he ordered out of nowhere.

 

“What?”

 

Marcos stopped dead in his tracks. Neymar’s heartbeat started quickening and he looked around until his gaze fell on the two men at the end of their street, leaning on the wall nonchalantly. A few seconds passed and the men stood up, hands in their pockets, casually placing themselves so as to block their way.

 

Beads of sweat formed on Neymar’s nape. Marcos had said no one was dumb enough to go after Mascherano’s things.

 

“ _Buongiorno_ ,” one of the man said. That sounded like Italian. “What are you two _stronzi_ doing out in the middle of the night?”

 

Neymar inched closer to Marcos. He glanced behind them and noticed two other mean closing in on them. They were cornered.

 

“What do you want?” Marcos asked.

 

“We’re just saying hello, no need to be so rude.”

 

“Why don’t you say hello to my ass?” Marcos answered, smirking.

 

The stranger smiled dangerously. “Oh, don’t play that game with us, _figlio di puttana_. You know what we’re here for.”

 

“You mean you’re _aren’t_ here to suck my dick?”

 

“Oh, you-” the stranger charged forward, followed by his colleague.

 

Neymar had really some words to tell Marcos about his self-preservation instinct, but as the men closed in on them, focusing on Marcos, Neymar realized they left their side wide-open. That was the opening Marcos had been talking about.

 

Neymar swallowed with difficulty, waiting for the men to be nearer before he took off, running at full speed without looking back, hearing cries, thuds, shouts, and someone barking _prendila!_

 

He didn’t look back, even when he heard a body fall on the ground, even when he felt like throwing up at the thought that maybe it was Marcos, that by the time he’ll have reached the headquarters and asked for help, it would already be too late, Marcos would be--

 

He couldn’t even make it past one corner.

 

He bumped into someone, hard enough to fall back on his ass.

 

“Where do you little rat think you’re going?!”

 

There was no mistaking the Italian accent. Neymar clenched his eyes shut.

 

_Fuck_. What a failure.

 

The man seized his collar , forcing his head up to look at him.

 

“Think you can run away from us?”

 

“No,” he answered, blood rushing from his head. “I just. Really wanted to pee, right now. I was, totally, coming back. After I was done.”

 

“Don’t make fun of me,” the man snarled. “Or I’ll slam your _pretty_ head against the ground.”

 

“I’m not making fun of you,” Neymar answered deliriously. “I have a very small bladder see and-”

 

The man pulled his fist back and Neymar closed his eyes, as ready as one could ever be for imminent pain. But before anything happened, another voice interrupted.

 

“Don’t hurt him, _idiot_ _a_.” This voice didn’t have an Italian accent like the others. It sounded weird to Neymar’s ears. He didn’t dare open his eyes though.

 

“He’s asking for it,” the Italian man growled. Neymar heard some words spoken in Italian and the stranger let go of his collar, moving back a few steps.

 

Neymar waited a few seconds, counting to three before he decided to open his eyes and face the newcomer, who seemed to have authority over this bunch. He was ready to beg for his and Marcos’s safety, but when his eyes met two green pupils and a warm smile, his body froze in shock and all he could utter was-

 

“Dani.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people have asked if Dani would feature in this story and : hey look, he does ! hehe.  
> Also, I had the hardest of times looking up Italian words and Argentine slang, but I hope I did it right.  
> Another thing - Leo's opinions are hardly mine, but I always find it interesting to write characters that are morally ambiguous. 
> 
> That said-- only one chapter left eh? Oh man, it's going to be fun.


	8. don't be naive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **chapter warnings : mentions of violence**
> 
>  
> 
> So, this was supposed to be the last chapter, but as you can see there's been a change of plan. As I was writing it I noticed it was going to be _way_ too long so I decided to split it. This story should thus last 9 chapters instead of 8! Good thing is, since I split the chapter I was able to make each parts longer, add scenes to them and stuff. Well, this chapter is mostly explanation, setting the final up, but I hope you'll still find it entertaining. It _is_ darker than the previous chapters though.
> 
> Oh and, Merry Christmas to those that celebrate Christmas ! For everyone else, I hope your bowel movements are dope.

Leo was standing next to him. He hadn’t wandered away from his sides for the last fifteen minutes. Mascherano’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and there was no grin on Pique’s face. And then there was Marcos.

 

Marcos was sitting on the sofa in front of him. His arm was in a cast and the left leg of his pant was rolled up, someone carefully taking care of the few bruises he’d earned there. The doctor had said he was alright. No ribs broken, no organ touched, just a few broken bones in his arm and a few bruises to have a story to tell. Marcos’s lip was split and his eye looked purple but he seemed alright, laid back in his seat while Agüero fretted at his sides. Standing guard over Marcos, like Leo was doing with him. The smallest dogs always barked the loudest.

 

Marcos answered the questions Mascherano asked – _how many were they did you recognize anyone was any name dropped which hour did you leave Uranus what time did they leave what car did they have do you remember the type of car they what type of weapon what did they look like_ \--

 

Neymar wasn’t really listening, not interested in knowing the details of something he’d had the misfortune of living.

 

“Neymar,” a voice called, and he turned to meet Leo’s eyes. “You’re with us?”

 

“Uh yeah, sorry. What did you want?”

 

“Tell us again.”

 

“Right.” Neymar had already had to explain it once, albeit he’d done a poor job at it, confused, lost and worried as he’d been.

 

“I don’t know,” he repeated. “He just took the bag of money and then they left.”

 

“But this wasn’t the money they were coming for,” Pique argued.

 

“Well it was a lot of money,” Neymar replied.

 

Mascherano shook his head. “It’s the information. This,” he said, holding the notebook Neymar had hidden in his underwear between two fingers, “this was what they were looking for. Why would they let you go without it?”

 

“Maybe they thought it was in the bag they took? They didn’t check it.”

 

“Stupid mistake. They’re not stupid,” Mascherano said, boring holes into Neymar’s face with his eyes, like he had the answer to his questions.

 

Neymar tried to remember the scene again. Dani _had_ glanced at his crotch, but he’d only taken the bag. Dani had known, because Dani had grown up with him and he knew Neymar had taken upon hiding things in his underwear. He’d known, Neymar was sure of that, but he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t checked the bag, had just called back his men and he left just like that, only a smile to say goodbye.

 

“I think he let me go,” Neymar voiced his thoughts out loud.

 

“Your friend?” Mascherano asked. Neymar nodded. “Why do you think that?”

 

“He knows- He knew I had the notebook and where it was hidden. But he didn’t say anything.”

 

“And what can you tell us about him?”

 

“About?”

 

“Your friend.”

 

“About Dani,” Neymar repeated dumbly.

 

“Yes.” Mascherano walked towards Neymar, leaning over him. “What can you tell us about Dani Alves.”

 

Neymar wasn’t sure what he was being asked. To sell his friend? He shouldn’t hesitate then, because Marcos had a broken arm, and they’d robbed him and Dani was part of the enemies but- Dani was his friend. Dani was his brother, and Neymar was growing the conviction that he’d _spared_ him.

 

“I-” he hesitated, looking up helplessly at Mascherano’s face.

 

“Leave him Masche,” Leo cut in, side-stepping to stand sideways between him and Mascherano. Neymar immediately relaxed. “He’s shocked, he needs to rest. You’ll talk to him later.”

 

Mascherano looked at him over Leo’s shoulder before straightening and walking back to his desk with quick steps. From then on he completely disregarded Neymar, and started barking orders left and right at the men present in t he room.

 

Leo turned to him.

 

“You want to sleep here tonight?” he asked, his voice drowned by _close down Uranus! walk the workers home, find every information you can get, find their_ _base_ _I want to know who they are-_

 

Neymar nodded, gratefully holding onto Leo’s arms and letting himself be led out of the room, accompanied by choirs of _no one goes out alone, if you leave you go by three or I’m murdering your goddamn family line-_

 

 

–

 

 

When Neymar woke up, Leo was long gone, and the sun was already setting.

 

He groggily got out of the bed, running a hand through his hair.

 

Greasy.

 

He blew into his hands to check his morning breath.

 

Terrible.

 

He stared into at himself in the mirror to look at the circles under his eyes.

 

Hideous.

 

He decided this would do.

 

He exited Leo’s bedroom, wandering down the corridor until he found something resembling food. He figured, in such a big house, there had to be food, somewhere, but so far all he could see was men in black suits and the occasional women in black suits.

 

After a few minutes spent roaming this maze, he stumbled into a big room with giant windows and comfy cushions everywhere. Marcos was there, black eye and white cast, sprawled on a cushion with a plate of food in front of him.

 

“Kun,” Marcos said when he noticed his bewildered stare at the amount of food. “He stacked everything he could on my plate.” He patted the cushion next to his. “Come sit down, there’s enough food for the two of us.”

 

Neymar seized this chance, walking up to him and falling heavily on the cushion.

 

“Tired? Kun hates you even more by the way.”

 

“What? I didn’t do anything!” Neymar protested.

 

Marcos shrugged. “You’re kind of his scapegoat I guess. It’s funny actually.”

 

“It’s not funny,” Neymar mumbled, stealing a croissant from Marcos’s plate.

 

He munched grumpily on the pastry until he noticed a _brioche_ on the plate. The _brioche_ in itself looked properly delicious – the  crust was golden and the crumb was white and airy. What caught his stare was the state of the slices that had been cut from it, completely defacing that thing of beauty. The slices were uneven and ugly, looking like a child had tried to cut into it with a butter knife.

 

“Kun,” Marcos supplied. “He insisted on helping me, um-”

 

Neymar looked around, and slowly he noticed that indeed, the small Argentinian had _tried_ to help. There was the peeled apple, who was now shaped like a triangle. There was the scrabbled eggs, who seemed to be overcooked and undercooked at the same time. There was the home-made orange juice, whose many pips were floating around. And there was of course the home-made pancakes, whose many holes made them look like Swiss cheese.

 

“This is so bad,” Neymar commented, awed.

 

“He tried.”

 

“He _failed_.” Neymar giggled, some  crumbs of croissant spilling out of his mouth as he laughed.

 

“Don’t mock him,” Marcos argued, although he was sporting a big smile. “He did his best,” but it only served to make Neymar laugh harder.

 

 

–

 

 

“Come on don’t be shy!” Neymar exclaimed, nudging Marcos’s sides. “It’s an easy question – does milk come out of his nips or not?”

 

Marcos threw his head back laughing, but he slapped his head nonetheless. “Give it a rest already!”

 

“Not until you tell me whether you ever drunk milk out of Agüero’s titties-”

 

“You’d better be quieter if you don’t want Kun to hear you,” Leo’s voice came from behind them. He came into their view and smiled.

 

Neymar smiled back. “He doesn’t scare me.”

 

“He doesn’t look like it but he’s strong,” Leo pointed out, but Neymar shrugged. He felt like if he could win against him if he asked a difficult question that wouldd paralyze Agüero on the spot. Winby over-confusion.

 

Leo sat down with them on a cushion and considered the orange juice, visibly debating whether to drink the seeds-infested drink or not.

 

“Kun,” Marcos supplied and this was pretty self-explanatory. Leo didn’t take a glass of juice.

 

“So,” Neymar asked, scratching his jeans uselessly. “How are-- things?”

 

Leo looked up at him curiously. “Do you want me to tell you?”

 

“Well,” Neymar licked his lip. He’d drawn a pink pig on Marcos’s cast, and it was all he could see right now. “I can’t ignore what’s going on right now.”

 

Leo nodded, accepting his answer.

 

“Who are they?” Neymar started with a question that had plagued his mind since yesterday – who had Dani been with, what was he doing, and _why_ was he doing it?

 

“Italians,” Leo answered, leaning back into his seat. “Juventus. It’s an Italian mafia set in Turin, led by a man named Buffon.”

 

“Turin,” Neymar repeated. “What are they doing in _Barcelona_?”

 

Leo frowned, seemingly thinking over the best way to tell his story. He was not a master of words and Marcos decided to intervene.

 

“There’s that big affair everyone wants in,” he said, glancing at Leo to make sure he was ok with him taking over. “Do you know a bit about what’s happening in the Philippines right now?” Neymar shook his head. “They recently elected a president who decided to start a war on drugs. _Literally_.”

 

Neymar frowned. This was far from Turin and Barcelona.

 

“He’s killing people who have anything to do with drugs and so, the leaders of the Philippines drug business have decided to- export their merchandise out of the country, to be safe. The main dealers, all of them, are about to export tons and tons of drugs out the country, and guess where this cargo will dock?”

 

“Barcelona!” Neymar exclaimed.

 

“Wrong,” Marcos said. “Porto.”

 

“That still doesn’t have anything to do with Barcelona or Turin.”

 

“Oh, on the contrary, this has to do with all of Europe. For organizations like us, who make profit out of selling drug, this cargo is a treasure, and everyone wants in. Including the Italians. Thing is,” Marcos said, relaxing smugly into his seat. “We’re the only one who have the intel. Where, when, who, how much, how – we know it all. And _that’s_ what Juventus is interested in.”

 

Neymar proceeded his explanation, linking it back to Mascherano’s insistence that the Italians hadn’t been there for the money but for the notebook.

 

“Money,” he summed up. “It’s all about the money.”

 

Marcos snorted. “What else?”

 

Neymar nibbled on his bottom lip, thinking it over. “It’s kind of disappointing.”

 

Marcos laughed but Neymar’s mind was still plagued by thoughts. Money. He’d been mugged for money, Marcos had been beat up for money and Dani had--

 

He frowned. What had Dani done?

 

 

–

 

Neymar didn’t go back to his flat for two days. The _blaugranas_ had became uptight about _safety_ and _security_ and Leo hadn’t let him leave until now – only so he could gather his things and go back to the mainhouse.

 

To be fair, Neymar wasn’t against staying wherever Leo was.

 

It was pitch black in his flat, and he struggled to find the light switch. He was momentarily blinded by the lights, and had to blink a few times to realize there was someone sitting on his couch.

 

He screamed.

 

“Neymar!” the stranger shouted and some parts of his brain recognized the voice, thus stopping his inhumane screech. He snapped his mouth shut, eyes wide and heart beating a mile an hour, and stared in disbelief at none other than his friend _Dani_.

 

“ _Dani_?” he said wildly. “What the- oh god, you killed me, oh god,” he panted, holding his thundering heart. “I’m dying.”

 

“Sorry sorry, didn’t think you’d scream that loud.”

 

“Of course I- you broke into- You-”

 

“Actually your door was open.” Dani frowned. “You should lock your door you know, it’s dangerous.”

 

“Yeah, _obviously_.”

 

Neymar shook his head, his heart going back to its normal rate one beat at a time. He hesitantly put down his bag and made for his couch, sitting down at a safe distance from Dani.

 

“So,” he said.

 

Dani smiled. “My little brother,” he said with fondness in his voice. “I’m so happy to see you again.”

 

“I’d be happy, too. If you hadn’t-- You mugged me!” Neymar exclaimed indignantly.

 

“I didn’t mug _you_ ,” Dani pointed out. “I had no idea you were with those _espanhol_ bastards.”

 

“ _Catal_ _ão_ ,” Neymar corrected.

 

“Bastards either way.”

 

Neymar frowned.

 

“Look,” Dani said, inching closer. “If I’d known you were involved-- I’d have done things differently.”

 

Neymar’s brows furrowed even more. “I don’t get it. You work for the mafia. The Italian mafia! And you- you beat up my friend for, for drugs and for _money_ and-”

 

“What do you think _they_ want those drugs for?” Dani interrupted. “Juventus isn’t like that. It’s not ruthless. We _need_ that money.”

 

Neymar scrunched up his nose.

 

Dani put a hand on his head, touching his curls.

 

“Last time I saw you, your hair was straight and shaved on the sides.” He tilted his head. “It looks good on you.”

 

“Thanks,” Neymar mumbled, unwillingy pleased.

 

Dani sighed. “Juventus needs money, because without money we can’t protect the people. There are people dying at sea, there are millions of unemployed, and the government is doing shits. But Buffon, he helps people. Juventus hires and takes care of whoever works for it, but we’re lacking funds. You get me?”

 

Neymar turned Dani’s words over in his head. “I guess,” he finally said. This was bigger than him and he had no idea what to think anymore. And who even was this _buffoon_ , some kind of King’s jester or something?

 

“Now _you_ tell me,” Dani’s voice shook him out of his thoughts. “What were you doing with the _blaugranas_?

 

“Ah uh. It’s a long story.”

 

“I got time.” Dani noticed his hesitation and he leaned forward, making sure Neymar’s eyes were on his eerily clear orbs. “If you’re in trouble, I can help you Ney.”

 

“I’m not in trouble.”

 

Dani snorted. “People who don’t have issues don’t work for the mafia.”

 

“I had issues,” he rectified. “But I’m alright now. I kind of- I needed money, so I-”

 

“I knew it!” Dani exclaimed. “I knew your parents didn’t have enough to pay for your sister’s college. You paid for it right?” he asked without leaving Neymar the time to answer. “ _Merda_ , why didn’t you tell me? What did they do to you, how much do you owe them?”

 

“I don’t know. They said if they told me I’d kill myself out of despair.”

 

Judging from Dani’s face, this wasn’t the right thing to say.

 

“You don’t need to stay with them _irmão_. I’ll take you with me to Italy, they won’t follow you there and if they try _meu Deus_ I’ll kill them where they stand.”

 

“No wait, it’s not like that! Let me finish. So, I owe money to them, so they made me work in their brothel-- no no, don’t get angry yet, _listen to me_.”

 

Neymar waited until Dani’s mouth snapped shut to start talking again, although from his stormy blue eyes his anger hadn’t died down.

 

“I work as a _bartender_ in their brothel. It’s _fine_. And sometimes, me and Marcos – the guy you beat up by the way – we take money and stuff to the main house. That’s it.”

 

Dani stared at him derisively. “That’s supposed to reassure me,” he said.

 

“Well I mean. It’s cool? The people are nice, and the place-- it’s actually fun.”

 

Dani shook his head. “Don’t lie to me.”

 

“I’m not lying to you!”

 

“You’re going to tell me, to my face, that you’re _safe_? That you’re happy working somewhere they force people to have sex?”

 

“It’s not like that!” Neymar protested. “They don’t force anyone. And I-- I mean I’ve been mugged once, and kind of assaulted that other time and I passed out one time too but-”

 

Oh he really should learn to control his mouth. Dani looked positively furious.

 

“It was only one time!” Neymar hurried. “Thrice. Whatever. It was _before_.”

 

“I don’t care if it happens two years ago or tomorrow. These _catalão_ bastards, I’m going to make their eat their own fucking shit-”

 

“No, Dani- wait!” he stood up urgently when Dani seemed to be heading for the door, seemingly intent on taking a whole mafia on his own. “I said wait!” He put himself between the door and his friend. “They’re not bad people – they’re my _friends_ now.”

 

“Your friends? Those amoral _cabrões_? Don’t let them fool you; they’re  ruthless _,_ they’re _cruel_. You know what they say in Italy? That their leaders burned down a whorehouse, with the prostitutes inside, _alive_. That’s the people you feel safe working with, in a  brothel?”

 

 _Ouch_. Neymar wondered how stories could travel through borders and seas so easily.

 

“It’s complicated?” He tried hesitantly. “They were kind of young, and I sincerely think Leo’s regretting it, a bit, somewhere inside-”

 

“Leo?” Dani frowned.

 

“Messi.”

 

“Messi,” Dani repeated. “ _Meu Deus_ Neymar, this guy is a fucking psycho how the hell-”

 

“He’s my boyfriend,” Neymar squeaked before Dani could go on. It had the immediate effect of shutting him up, and the seconds that followed were as tense as a string.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Dani finally said, stepping back.

 

Neymar shook his head.

 

“Fuck’s sake,” Dani cursed. “No way.” He walked back to the couch and fell down on it, seemingly worn down by that sole piece of information Neymar had given him.

 

“I love him,” Neymar said, uneasy with the stretching silence.

 

“You’re unbelievable,” Dani muttered, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I’m definitely taking you away from this psycho.”

 

The only answer Neymar had to give was, “I’m pretty sure he likes me too.”

 

 

–

 

 

The night with Dani had been long.

 

Neymar had done his best – really his best – to paint Leo in an endearing light, but nothing had been enough to salvage Dani’s fears. He insisted on taking Neymar’s back with him to Italy, and granted, Neymar knew he wouldn’t take him against his force, but it was still pretty tiring to argue about it.

 

When he was finally back at the mainhouse, spilling his clothes in Leo’s room and replacing his average shampoo with fruit-scented ones, he wondered if he should tell Leo about it. About meeting Dani, and about Dani’s opinion on their relationship. But he figured, with everything going on right now, this wasn’t a good idea. Because this, _this_ was personal.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar hadn’t been there three days and already he was made to sit down on a chair to answer questions.

 

“You could at least say hello,” Neymar complained.

 

Mascherano was leaning against his desk, his usual black jacket discarded on the back of his chair. He was drinking his coffee while silently watching him.

 

“Hello,” he said. “Uranus was attacked last night.”

 

“What?”

 

Mascherano took a new sip from his mug. “Uranus was attacked last night.”

 

“Is anyone hurt?” Neymar asked urgently. “Is anyone-”

 

“You don’t listen at all do you?” Mascherano cut him calmly. “I had the place closed down since the Italians showed up. All they found is guards and all they left with is bruises.”

 

Neymar relaxed back into his chair, willing his heartbeat to slow down from the recent scare.

 

“Thank god,” he said, relieved.

 

Mascherano hummed. “You understand this is quite inconvenient. I can’t keep the place closed down forever, and I have the habit of repaying what I’m given.” He clicked his tongue. “There’s no need to look so wary. You’re fucking my little brother, no harm will come to you.”

 

This didn’t do much to soothe Neymar’s fears, although he did feel a twinge of embarrassment.

 

Mascherano put down his empty mug on his desk and joined his hands in front of himself before looking back at Neymar.

 

“I want to know everything you have on Dani Alves.”

 

Neymar’s blood ran cold.

 

“What?”

 

“Where he lives. Where he comes from. What’s his favorite dish, if he got any living relatives, where do they live, what is he scared of – everything.”

 

There was some blank noise filling Neymar’s ears, something loud but distant that wrapped Mascherano’s voice in cotton.

 

“No.”

 

“No?” Mascherano repeated, tilting his head.

 

“You’re- asking me to _sell_ him.”

 

“He’s our enemy,” Mascherano pronounced carefully. “Therefore he is _your_ enemy.”

 

Neymar shook his head. “He’s not-”

 

“What do you think would have happened if Uranus had been open?”

 

The query took Neymar by surprise.

 

“What’s her name? Ah yes, Karina. If she’d been here, would they have roughed her up? Would they have raped her? Or maybe they’d have preferred to target men, like that friend of yours, Lavezzi. Would they have hit him? Do you think they’d have stopped once his bones started breaking?”

 

Neymar let out a dry sob, the image taking over his brain until it was all he could think about, tears and pain and cries in his friendly haven.

 

“I’m not wrong in assuming you’re one of us, am I?” Mascherano inquired. “You can’t work against us if you date one of us.”

 

Neymar closed his eyes, trying trying trying to get rid of the voices and the images. “What do you want me to do?” he asked, both his voice and body shaking with fear and angst.

 

“Your friend. I want information on him.”

 

“ _I can’t_ ,” Neymar stressed, trying to convey how desperate he was. “Anything, but not that.”

 

“It’s the only thing I want.”

 

“I can’t,” Neymar repeated. “Do you-- really have to fight? Can’t you just, I don’t know, collaborate?” he asked, looking at the ceiling as his eyes filled with tears.

 

Mascherano laughed. _Actually_ laughed.

 

“Mafias don’t _share._ ”

 

“Why not? He- he says they need the money, to help people in Italy, he-”

 

“And what do you think _we_ need the money for?”

 

Neymar had no answer to that. Buying champagne and fancy suits had been his best guess so far.

 

“They won’t dedicate every penny to a good cause, and neither will we,” Mascherano said. “But how do you think Uranus is possible? Who pays the men who keeps small businesses safe? Who lends people money when banks refuse to do shit? Who gives jobs to people who no one want to hire? Who pays them? Who buys the weapons needed to make sure no one wants to attack you? Who keeps the prostitutes safe? Who keeps the pimps away? Who protects you? Or, I should say, _what_ protects you?”

 

Neymar opened his mouth, knowing the answer already but unable to pronounce it, shaken and numbed by Mascherano’s words.

 

“Money,” Mascherano answered his own question. “Money. Money protects you, it protects your friends, it protects the idiots living in this city. _They_ won’t stop at anything, and neither will we. _But_ ,” Mascherano’s tone became kinder. “This can end without unnecessary death. It’s stupidly easy – anyone will back off if, say, their mother or lover is on the line.” He looked at Neymar pointedly, and Neymar got what he meant. “So,” Mascherano leaned over. “Tell me what you know about Dani Alves.”

 

Neymar breathed. In, out. His hands were fisted into the fabric of his jeans, becoming whiter by the second. His head felt light. And there was still that buzzing in his ear.

 

“No,” he answered.

 

Mascherano’s mouth set into a frown.

 

“You’re going to let your friends die?”

 

“You want to know if he’s got any relatives?” Neymar said. “Yes: me.” He was almost delighted at Mascherano’s surprised look. “Me, and Rafinha. That’s it.”

 

Mascherano studied his face. “He’s not your actual brother.”

 

“No,” Neymar agreed. “But he’s an orphan. And me and Rafa, we’re the only family he has.”

 

 _El Jefecito_ frowned and Neymar could tell he’d upset his plans.

 

“If you want to kidnap me, go ahead,” he provoked, spitefully.

 

Mascherano stared down at him, his mouth still frowning.

 

“You’re dismissed,” he said.

 

Neymar got up at once, purposefully smiling at Mascherano before heading for the door, back straight and head held high.

 

The buzzing sound had morphed into sniffles and screams, Karina’s cries and Pocho asking him why he hadn’t helped them, why he hadn’t given Dani away, why he had let it happen to them.

 

His heart constricted, but he kept walking proudly.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar was fighting with Marcos, trying to grab his arm to draw something ugly on his cast, when Leo came storming into the room. He headed straight to him.

 

“Did Masche really talk to you?” he asked directly without any greeting.

 

“Uh. What?” Neymar blinked. “Yes?”

 

“That ass,” Leo muttered. “What did he ask you?”

 

Neymar blinked some more.

 

“You didn’t know?”

 

Leo clicked his tongue with annoyance. “Of course not. If I did I’d have been there no?”

 

Neymar hadn’t really thought about it. He’d assumed Mascherano was the boss and no one really had a say in this anyway, but he was suddenly reminded that Leo wasn’t like any other subordinates. Wasn’t a subordinate at all, probably.

 

“I guess?”

 

“So, what did he want?” Leo repeated hurriedly.

 

“Stuff. About Dani.”

 

If Leo had been there, he wondered how the meeting would have gone. Would he have taken his side? Or would he have stood next to his brother, silent while he put _images_ Neymar was still trying to chase by drawing bananas on Marcos’s cast.

 

Leo stared at him pointedly, waiting for him to elaborate.

 

“I couldn’t really help him, in the end.”

 

Leo hummed quizzically, tilting his head in a way that indicated doubt towards Neymar’s brief explanation.

 

“Alright,” he said. “But if he does it again-- anything happens, you tell me.”

 

Neymar nodded, and watched in awe as Leo stormed back out of the room, no more goodbyes than there had been hellos.

 

Maybe Leo would have taken his side. Maybe he’d have stood to his defense. Maybe he’d have said, _stop it Masche, Neymar can’t be single-handedly responsible for the fate or Uranus!_ Or maybe not. Maybe he’d have said, _People will die if you don’t cooperate._ Or maybe, _I don’t need you there if you can’t help me._ Or, _I had to burn down a brothel once, don’t make me do it a second time_.

 

Neymar found he didn’t want the answer to this question.

 

“Spongebob,” he declared.

 

“What?” Marcos asked.

 

“I’m going to draw Spongebob Squarepants on your cast.”

 

Marcos groaned but he gave in and lent him his arm.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar woke up with Leo’s arms around his waist. He sleepily snuggled closer to his boyfriend, flushing his back against his chest even though the bed was big enough for several person.

 

He blindly reached for his phone, searching with his hand until he found it. He looked at the time – 2:05. At this hour he should be in Uranus, serving _mojitos_ and _vodkas_ to whoever wanted it. But the whorehouse had been trashed down, there was no one working there, no lights on, nothing but guards and fear.

 

There was an unread message, from Dani.

 

Neymar stared for a few seconds at his too-bright screen and the message on his phone. He’d exchanged a few texts with Dani since he’d dropped at his flat, and they all had more or less been about the same thing.

 

He decided to look at it, only to find Dani had sent him a dozen links. Neymar only opened a few and that was all he needed.

 

_Why are u sending me this?_

 

**Did you look at it?**

 

_I dont like blood & gore_

 

**But your boyfriend does. Those are all things he did.**

 

_Thats not what the articles say_

 

**Everyone knows he did it.**

 

_Like u never killed anyone_

_ur in the mafia 2_

 

**I’ve never made the headline.**

‘ **barbaric slaughter’**

‘ **faces unrecognizable’**

‘ **mutilated body parts’**

 

_Whats ur point_

 

**He’s dangerous**

 

_He never hurt me_

 

**Doesn’t mean he won’t ever.**

**You’re not safe with him.**

**What if you ever do something against his interest? What if you go against his plans?**

**Do you think you matter more to him than his family?**

 

 _He wouldn’t hurt me_ , Neymar answered, but this felt weak even to himself. Neymar didn’t have an answer to Dani’s queries, only hope and wishes.

 

_Why are u doing this? This is none of ur concern_

 

**I don’t want to meddle and if the situation was different, but this guy is dangerous**

**His family is dangerous**

 

_Yours is too_

 

**You’re my family.**

**Above Buffon and Juventus. I’ll never turn my back on you and Rafa.**

**You’re the only family I have left**

**You know what the mafia taught me? You do anything to protect your family.**

 

Neymar didn’t answer.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar would like it to be said that the mafia sucked, no matter where it was from. On the one hand he had Dani pestering him about dropping Leo and fucking off to Italy with him, and on the other hand there was Leo, who was generally nonplussed at the state of thing.

 

Neymar was caught in the crossfire, between his long time friend insisting he left and his lover’s family talking about getting rid of _the Italians_ again and again. Neymar knew with dreadful certainty that it could only end in blood. No matter who won, Neymar would lose.

 

He’d tried seeking advice. Marcos had laughed and told him his life sucked. Aguëro had muttered something along the lines of _kill yourself_ and _why are you mooing at me_. Rafinha, after he was done fainting, had cursed Dani for reasons that mostly revolved around him keeping secrets and _what the fuck is wrong with you two what’s up with being with the mafia are you suicidal_ _do you want me to kill you_. Ter Stegen had proved a bit more  serious, throwing a ‘ _follow your heart_ ’ at him, which had been nice but absolutely useless as this was no Disney movie and all Neymar’s heart wanted was sex, cuddles and clear skin.

 

“I don’t know what to do,” he bemoaned, slumped on Rafinha’s couch and very much ruining his date with Marc-André.

 

“It’s not like they asked you do to anything did they,” Rafinha answered sarcastically.

 

“Yeah but if I do nothing, they’ll just end up… killing each other, or something. I can’t just, stand by.”

 

“Well what are you and those two sticks you call arms gonna do?” Rafa asked haughtily from where he was perched on one of Marc-André’s knee. The latter laughed, oblivious to how much of a pretentious douchebag Rafinha was.

 

“First of all, fuck you,” Neymar said. “ _Second of all_. There’s no second of all. I’m totally lost. Help me,” he begged.

 

Rafinha sighed, getting up from his perch to come sit next to him. “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t think there’s anything you can do. You don’t have to feel guilty about it.”

 

“Don’t worry so much,” Marc-André said with an encouraging smile. “Do what you think is right and you will have no regrets.”

 

“ _Mein Engel_ ,” Neymar answered dryly. “I like you and I like your optimism but your advice are fucking shit.”

 

 

–

 

 

Since the whole thing with Juventus had started, Leo had insisted on taking him to and back from college. Neymar wasn’t really complaining, enjoying the ride with his boyfriend and the looks he received climbing out of an expensive black car with tinted windows. He felt like hot shit.

 

It had been totally coincidental – they’d been walking to Leo’s car, parked a bit further away than normal because of on-going road works. Neymar had chatted about this teachers and Leo had looked entertained, when they’d come face to face with someone Neymar recognized instantly.

 

“Dani,” he said, blinking several time. He smiled. “What are you doing there?”

 

Dani looked surprised too – at least Neymar assumed so but it was difficult to see past the black shades.

 

“Walking around. This is your college?” he asked, nodding to the building that could be seen in the distance.

 

Neymar nodded. “Yeah, my classes just ended so Leo was--” he trailed off, “walking me home,” he ended quietly, remembering the man next to him, and the way he was watching the scene with hostility.

 

“Messi,” Dani greeted, a wide smile on his face. “How nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

Leo’s stance changed, his face closed off and his body tense. He didn’t answer, watching silently and warningly his friend.

 

“You really are as small as they say,” Dani said, tilting his head mockingly. Neymar wondered what was the point of warning him about Leo being dangerous when Dani went and said stuff like that.

 

“I should kill you,” Leo said flatly. “Right now, right there, and be done with it.”

 

Dani didn’t lose the smile but Neymar could see his posture change.

 

Neymar squeaked. “What are you two doing?!”

 

The two men seemed caught in an eye contest – quite a feat; Neymar wondered if Leo could see through shades – and they didn’t even look at him when he spoke, thought Dani had the decency to answer.

 

“Nothing _irmão_. Don’t worry,  bastards can’t hurt me.”

 

Leo stepped forward, and Dani’s hand immediately went to his waist. A gun, Neymar guessed.

 

“Tell me where the fuck is your base before I crush your head in,” Leo said, his face still blank and emotionless. Neymar found it scary.

 

“You’re not actually going to fight right? Here? In front of _me_?” Neymar asked, panicked. He grabbed Leo’s arm, pulling on it to draw his attention. “Leo?”

 

Leo begrudgingly looked away from Dani to look at him. “No. But we’re leaving, right now.”

 

He grabbed his hand and started pulling him away, walking with quick, decided steps.

 

“You think he’s your dog?” Dani shouted.

 

“You want me stay here and beat you up?” Leo answered.

 

“You go wherever you want, but if Ney wants to stay here, he can.”

 

Leo turned back around. “You think I’ll leave him alone, with you?” he snarled, and there it was, anger.

 

“He’d be safer with me than with the likes of you. What, that’s how you protect him? You’re caught in a war and you’re walking the streets, in the open, _alone_?”

 

“I could beat your pitiful gang in my sleep,” Leo said haughtily. Neymar thought he meant it.

 

Dani giggled. “Oh please, you don’t even have your gun. Haven’t you ever heard of a drive-by shooting?”

 

“You touch him,” Leo stepped closer, his voice menacing. Neymar didn’t miss the way Dani stepped back. “I end you.”

 

“How wonderful, I was going to say the exact same thing!” Dani answered cheerfully. “You really think you can protect him, when _you_ are the one who got him involved in the first place?”

 

“You don’t know me,” Leo answered. “None of your fucking buffoons scare me,” he continued, confident and threatening.

 

“You don’t scare me either. Whether you want it or not, we’ll get what we’re looking for and when this is all over, Neymar will come to Italy with me. You tell me whether I don’t scare you then.”

 

Leo frowned. “He’s not going anywhere.”

 

“Says who?” Dani answered, smirking.

 

“Says no one,” Neymar butted in. “Can you stop? People are watching, this is embarrassing,” he hissed.

 

He hoped he successfully managed to hide the fear in his voice. He didn’t like this conversation, he didn’t like it one bit, and he wasn’t sure why.

 

He pulled on Leo’s hand, trying to take him away but Leo wouldn’t budge.

 

“Guys please,” he complained quietly, and slowly the both of them lost their offensive stance. Dani hand left his waist. “There, good.”

 

He managed to coax Leo into stepping back, throwing a quick wave to Dani as he hurried away to Leo’s car.

 

 

–

 

 

The ride back home was one of the worst car ride Neymar had ever had, that one time he was kidnapped by the mafia to repay a debt not withstanding.

 

“Come on, say something,” he whined.

 

“What did he mean, he’s going to take you to Italy?” is all Leo answered.

 

Neymar bit his lip. “He wants me to go Italy with him.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because-- he thinks you’re dangerous,” he mumbled.

 

Leo’s eyes were on the road and Neymar could hear him breathe in, then out.

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“He told me.”

 

“When?”

 

“When he talked to me.”

 

“Because you’re _talking_ to him?” Leo hissed.

 

“Well-”

 

“We’re at _war_. We’re fighting with _his_ gang and you’re talking to _him_? And you don’t tell me?”

 

“He’s my friend,” Neymar protested.

 

“I’m your boyfriend. You’re-- whether you want it or not, if you’re with me you’re part of my family, you can’t just keep talking to the enemy. What if you give away information, even on accident?”

 

Neymar’s heart constricted. He felt like crying.

 

“But he’s my friend,” he repeated weakly. He fisted his hands in his jeans, and his breathing started being shaky. “I don’t-” he choked. “I can’t stop being his friend, you know? I grew up with him it’s like my brother.”

 

Leo’s hands were tight on the wheel, his eyes straight on the road but Neymar knew he was listening.

 

He sniffled.

 

“I don’t want to go to Italy,” he said. “But I don’t want him to die either. I don’t-” he choked, and his breathing became jerkier. Oh, he shouldn’t have said this word.

 

He found he couldn’t really talk much more, his eyes blurry with tears he refused to shed and his heart struggling to provide him with fresh oxygen. He had trouble breathing, he had trouble thinking. He barely processed the car stopping and Leo entering his vision.

 

“Ney,” he said, holding the sides of his head. “Breathe, hey. It’s alright, breathe.”

 

“I don’t-” Neymar choked, hyperventilated. He couldn’t see Leo’s eyes, it was all blurry. “-want people to die, I-”

 

_If she’d been here, would they have roughed her up?_

 

“My friends-”

 

 _Or maybe they’d have preferred to target men, like that friend of yours, Lavezzi_.

 

“You- Dani- I don’t- either-”

 

_Would they have hit him? Do you think they’d have stopped once his bones started breaking?_

 

He sobbed loudly, struggling to stop his tears from falling. His strangled breathing stopped when Leo pressed his lips against his, breathing into his mouth for a second. He pulled back and closed his eyes with his thumbs, the tears Neymar had worked so hard on stopping spilling down.

 

“Do you trust me?” Leo asked calmly.

 

Neymar nodded without any hesitation.

 

“Then you let me handle this. Everything. You don’t meet or talk to your friend while this fight lasts, and you let me take care of this.”

 

Neymar opened his mouth to protest- _once this war is over one of you could be dead!_

 

“And in exchange,” Leo continued, “I promise neither me, nor your friend, will die.”

 

Neymar’s eyes snapped open. “You can’t-” he started protesting but he was stopped by Leo’s determined, confident eyes.

 

“I can,” Leo said. “I promise.”

 

There was no trace of doubt on Leo’s face.

 

“Ok,” Neymar agreed, and he was surprised by how relieved he sounded. How much he trusted Leo-- because if Leo said he wouldn’t die, if he said Dani wouldn’t die, then it was true. Leo would make sure it was true. “Thank you.”

 

Leo leaned down, giving him another chaste kiss. “I promise,” he repeated against his lips, stealing the last of Neymar’s worry away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't make promises you can't keep~
> 
> the 9th chapter should really be the last, and it'll be eventful so be ready !


	9. don't trust him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **chapter warnings : violence, blood, mentions of torture**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Hi there.  
> Well, this took me longer than expected, but I'm also busier than I expected. For that matter, it's 5 am here so I'll be answering comments tomorrow, if you don't mind x_x  
> Anyway, as you may have noticed I'm going to split this chapter _again_. The good news is : I wrote the whole thing before deciding to split it, so all that's left for me to do is proofread the final chapter ! I should have it done within a week, so you won't have to wait long this time.

Neymar wondered how he always managed to end up in these situations.

 

There were 10 men in front of them, and they all looked like rabid dogs. Leo stood tall – as tall as could be at least – unfazed by the fact they’d been ganged up on. This was what kept Neymar from freaking out.

 

Also, he wondered whether that meant dates would be forbidden from now on.

 

The _blaugrana_ _s_ had become so tight with security; Leo was even reluctant to let him go to college. It had been hell for Neymar to convince him to go out, take a walk, possibly buy ice cream – early March, time to dig back into the food no? It had taken him a full week to convince Leo to go on a date with him. He wasn’t ashamed to say he’d annoyed him into accepting.

 

Considering he’d also spent that week ignoring Dani’s texts and eating all his meals alongside Chief Egg and Fat Cow, he thought he deserved this date.

 

Yet now here they were, walking back from the city center after a peaceful afternoon, and their path was blocked by thugs asking for drugs.

 

Neymar was never going out ever again was he?

 

“Don’t go thinking we’re dumb – we know what’s up with the drugs. You’re always underestimating us but you didn’t expect that did you?” one guy said, a smug smile on his face.

 

“You’re pitiful,” Leo answered, looking supremely bored.

 

The man showed teeth, like a mad dog.

 

Neymar inched closer to Leo and whispered into his ear, “Who are they?”

 

“ _Espanyol_ ,” Leo muttered. “Some guys who think there’s a place for them in Barcelona.” The corner of Leo’s lips quirked up. “But Barcelona belongs to us.”

 

The man laughed – Neymar guessed it was the leader of this small group.

 

“That again uh? You’re gonna have to work with us now. We’ll see if you can still look down on us once we get these drugs.”

 

“You’re aware he doesn’t look down on anyone right?” Neymar cut in despite himself. “Sorry,” he added quickly.

 

Leo looked back at the group, choosing to ignore him. “And how do you idiots think you’ll get these drugs?”

 

“You’re going to tell us, of course,” the man smiled. “If you don’t want to die.” He jerked his head towards Neymar. “Or if you don’t want _him_ to die.”

 

Leo laughed. This didn’t seem to sit well with the Espanyol dudes, who all got rather red in the face, clenching their fists and readying their weapons.

 

Neymar took a step back when Leo pinched his hips, before telling the group provocatively, “You’re coming or nah? I’d like to be done with you before the night falls.”

 

They snarled and made a run for it. Leo ran towards them, successfully taking the fight away from Neymar, who was standing in shock as Leo avoided a knife first thing and aimed a punch at a man that sent him sprawling.

 

He stood still, and maybe he shouldn’t be watching, possibly wasn’t fond of violence, but there was something breathtaking in the scene, too quick for him to think much about it. A man took out his gun, Leo moved, twisted some guy’s arm and used him as a shield right as he was shot at, hurled him at his attacker – how did one even _hurl_ a man?! – elbowed a guy behind him, dodged, grabbed the wrist holding a knife, turned it over back into his attacker’s hand, kicking and dodging and punching--

 

It was a bit like watching a movie. He’d seen Leo fight before, in a dark alley, but the sun was bright and there were ten men, and by now only three were left standing.

 

This was _super cool_.

 

 _Three_ ; Leo was holding a slender man by his throat, unfazed by his struggles. A blondie tried to swing a club at Leo, who avoided it swiftly without dropping the man he was holding. He grabbed Blondie’s hair and smashed his face against his knee. Blondie didn’t get up.

 

 _Two_ ; the man whose throat he was holding stopped struggling altogether, his limbs going limp. Leo dropped him on the ground.

 

 _One_ ; he hit the last man left standing in the guts and grabbed his open jaw, seemingly intent on tearing his jaw in two, the man struggling, trying to take his hands off his face but to no avail--

 

“Stop!” a shout next to his ear, something cold under his chin, something deadly against his throat. Neymar’s breath stopped.

 

Leo looked towards him. He dropped the man he was holding, and this one wasted no time scrambling away. Leo looked unhappy. Neymar felt rather unhappy too, considering he was being held hostage by a man with a knife. He didn’t know where that guy came from or if he’d been there since the beginning, but the result was the same: someone was panting hotly into his ear, which was gross.

 

“Kick the gun away,” his attacker said, nodding to a gun within Leo’s reach. Leo didn’t take his eyes away from the man, even as he kicked the gun away as he was told.

 

“And then what?” he challenged.

 

“You’re gonna stay still,” the man said, sounding panicked. Neymar almost felt sorry for him – though not as much as he felt sorry for himself. “You’re gonna stay still, and I’m going to take your boy away-”

 

“I’d rather not,” Neymar squeaked. The man held his chin in his hand, dirty, sweaty palm on his clean-shaven face. Neymar tried to draw his head back to escape the feel of the cold blade against his skin.

 

Neymar knew he had a knife too, hidden away in his underwear. A knife Leo had given him precisely so he could protect himself but-- what even would he do with a knife? He had no idea how to use it and no desire to either.

 

Leo had gone and beaten up ten guys and Neymar was there ruining everything.

 

“-take him with me, and if you want him back-” the man was speaking, words tumbling out of his mouth like vomit, “-you’re gonna have to share some things with us, yeah? You’re gonna do what I tell you to or this one will end up in a grave-”

 

“If you hurt him,” Leo said, voice flat. “I’ll kill you.”

 

Then manlaughed nervously. “Always so confident uh? But this time, this time we’re winning.” He took steps back and Neymar followed clumsily, eager not to lag down, not to let the blade dig into his skin. “Come with me boy,” the man said, one step back, two steps back-

 

And then a noise loud like an explosion that shot right into his ear, deafening him on the spot.

 

He stood still, a white noise ringing in his head as Leo ran up to him.

 

“-hell---that’s-- protect?”

 

Neymar had trouble hearing. His back was all wet now.

 

Leo came up to his sides, looking him over quickly before turning to whoever was talking behind Neymar’s back. Leo’s expression turned annoyed as he talked back to the newcomer.

 

It took him some seconds to recognize the new voice was Dani’s. And he was arguing loudly with Leo about protecting him, it seemed.

 

“Nothing would have happened to him,” Leo’s voice surfaced through the white noise.

 

“Oh you sure about that? I’m supposed to believe you when my little bro was almost abducted in front of you?”

 

Now, if Neymar believed what his body was telling him, Dani had shot the man’s head. He’d shot the man’s head, right behind him, and Neymar’s back was wet and dirty with blood. Blood and stuff that felt a bit more substantial, a bit more like human parts, stuck to his clothes, sliding down his neck. He felt gross.

 

“I’d have killed them,” Leo argued. “Every single one of them-”

 

“I don’t fucking care about your revenge!” Dani shouted. “What’s the point of revenge if you can’t protect him in the first place?!”

 

Leo’s hand shot up to grab Dani’s throat. It seemed more a threat than an attack but still. If Neymar wasn’t on the verge of throwing up he’d have opposed that argument.

 

“It pisses you off because I’m right uh?” Dani provoked.

 

Leo glared, tightening his grip on Dani’s neck.

 

“Look here-”

 

“Yo man.” Someone came up to his side, startling Neymar. He whipped his head around, only to be met with a talking torso.

 

Wait.

 

He looked up, and met the eyes of a tall black man with a toothy white smile, and some kind of panther-patterned haircut.

 

“Dang, the small guy did that?” the newcomer asked, scanning the street and its field of bodies. It did look like a battlefield.

 

The newcomer whistled. “ _Il rigole pas le mircobe._ ”

 

Neymar frowned at the words.

 

He heard something along the lines of, _I’m taking him to Italy_ , and, _he’s not going anywhere_.

 

“That’s-” Neymar tried to put a name on the language. “French?”

 

The man nodded. “Paul Pogba, nice to meet you. You two should probably hurry out of here before people come and see this mess,” he said with a wide smile, seemingly amused by said mess.

 

“French,” Neymar repeated. “How many freaking strangers can there be into a single city,” he moaned. Found this way easier than thinking about his current state and the fact someone’s head had been blown up in his back.

 

“ _And what if he wants to come with me uh? What will you do then?”_

 

“ _He doesn’t.”_

 

“ _Why wouldn’t he? You’re doing a shit job at protecting him-”_

 

The new guy, identified as Paul Pogba, laughed loudly. “A lot! That’s what makes things fun mate!”

 

“ _-you can’t take him away from him-”_

 

“ _No but he can take himself away from you, can’t he?”_

 

Neymar looked back towards Dani and Leo, who where now as close as could be without being outright gay.

 

“Hey Boss!” Pogba called “If we don’t hurry we’re going to be late!”

 

Neither Leo nor Dani seemed ready to break their staring contest, gauging each other silently.

 

“Boss,” Pogba repeated, and Dani finally shrugged Leo away with annoyance.

 

“You’re right Paul, we better leave now.”

 

Dani looked at him and smiled apologetically. “Ney. I take it you’re not answering my texts because of him right?” he said. He didn’t need to say who _him_ referred to. “It’s fine, I’m glad I saw you. Sorry I can’t stay but if things ever get too much-- Come to me yeah?”

 

Dani leaned in to press a kiss against his forehead before walking away, throwing one last glare at Leo before disappearing from their sight.

 

“Leo,” Neymar called once the two of them were left alone and police sirens were ringing in the distance. “I think I’ve got a piece of brain in my ass-crack.”

 

 

–

 

 

The water was getting cold.

 

Neymar had been in that bath for too long and he was starting to shiver from the cold. The bubbles were all gone and the water had some red hue to it, even though Neymar had been careful to wash himself as thoroughly as possible before running the bath.

 

Leo knocked on the door before coming in.

 

“You’ve been here for too long,” he admonished.

 

“Not really,” Neymar denied.

 

Leo sunk a hand in the water to seize his wrist, before brandishing his hand in the air.

 

“Your fingertips look like raisin,” he said, showing him the state of his own digits.

 

“They do not,” he protested, although they did.

 

“They do. You’re becoming one big wrinkle as we speak.”

 

“Are you saying you’d dump me if I was wrinkly?”

 

Leo huffed, a smile playing on his lips. “You’ll never find out.”

 

He reached down and swiftly unplugged the rain-stopper.

 

“Hey, no!” Neymar protested.

 

Leo moved away, grabbing a big fluffy towel from a counter. He held it pointedly, until Neymar begrudgingly got up and let himself be wrapped into the warm cloth.

 

“Can you make me hot chocolate?” Neymar inquired.

 

“I’m not your maid.”

 

“Pretty please.”

 

Leo huffed and turned to exit the room, hopefully to make him the drink he longed for.

 

“Feel free to draw hearts and put little umbrellas in it!” He shouted before the door closed, only hearing parts of Leo’s resulting chuckle.

 

 

–

 

 

When Neymar exited the bathroom, it appeared Leo hadn’t made him hot chocolate. Instead he was sitting on his bed, absentmindedly playing with a knife.

 

Neymar knew that knife. It was silver and gold, the metal oxidized by the years, and it usually sat next to his thigh, nestled in his underwear.

 

He laughed nervously, drawing Leo’s attention. “A bit useless eh? I should give it back to you.”

 

“No,” Leo said. His hand stilled and he beckoned Neymar over. “Come here.”

 

Neymar made his way towards the bed, climbing on the mattress and making it dip under his weight.

 

“Your friend is right,” Leo said, looking at the knife in his hand. “I should have been protecting you.”

 

“That’s bullshit, I was-”

 

“No,” Leo cut him, shaking his head. “It’s my job, and I failed. I couldn’t make you safe, that’s-” he trailed off. His mouth set into a thin line and he looked upset.

 

“Hey.” Neymar put a hand on his thigh. “You can’t protect me all the time, from everything. I was just-- useless.”

 

Leo’s brows furrowed. “You weren’t. I should be protecting you all the time.”

 

Neymar laughed. “That’s impossible!”

 

“It shouldn’t be for me,” Leo argued, a hint of arrogance in his voice. Neymar smiled fondly.

 

“But in case I can’t,” Leo continued, “If I can’t protect you, I need to show you how to use that,” he said, the pocket knife on his open palm.

 

Neymar didn’t dare look down.

 

“I don’t want to use it,” he said.

 

“I don’t either. But if it comes down to it-” Leo closed his fist on the knife and pressed it against Neymar’s chest. “I need you to know.”

 

Neymar hesitated. He looked into Leo’s eyes, noticing the urgency behind the facade of confidence. He gave in.

 

He looked down and reached for Leo’s fist, allowing him to open it so he could take the knife from him. He held it clumsily, as dexterous as a kid eating with a fork for the first time.

 

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” he murmured.

 

“You don’t have to,” Leo answered softly. “Here.”

 

Leo took hold of his hand and started maneuvering it, turning the blade against his own body to Neymar’s incredulity.

 

“When someone is behind you and holds you,” he pressed the tip of the blade against his thigh, Neymar instinctively trying to pull back when his jeans dipped, afraid of hurting him. But Leo didn’t seem apprehensive, continuing as though there wasn’t a blade so close to his skin, although he wasn’t giving Neymar the leverage to hurt him.

 

“There,” Leo said. “This is enough. And then you can run away. There will be a lot blood, but they just need to put pressure on the wound and call an ambulance, and they’ll be fine.”

 

“Provided they know they need to do that.”

 

“Provided they know,” Leo agreed. He moved Neymar’s hands again and held the flat side of the blade against his palm. “If someone comes at you, or holds you, or if you see an opening, stab their palms. It’ll either be painful enough or shocking enough to give you time to run away, and it won’t kill them.”

 

Neymar nodded. He’d never planned to take lessons on how to use a knife, but he couldn’t help listening to Leo with rapt attention, drinking in his every words, storing them in his brain. Leo was close to him and he could hear him breathing – calmly, evenly, unworried.

 

Next, Leo directed the blade at his shoulder. “You can also aim there. Generally speaking, if you aim for the legs and arms you’re sure not to kill them, and it should incapacitate them. But there are some people-” Leo started moving his hand down, traveling from his shoulder to his stomach and keeping a firm grip on Neymar’s reluctant hand. “Some people won’t be scared away. Some people can take a few stabs. Some people- Some situation, you might not have any choice.”

 

“No,” Neymar said.

 

“Sometimes it’s them or you,” Leo said. Neymar tried to pull back but Leo didn’t let him. He placed the knife at the side of his stomach, not far above his groin. “There. Not all stomach wounds are deadly. There is no vital organs there. Only muscles.”

 

Neymar nodded, his hand relaxing again into Leo’s hold.

 

“When you’re in danger, try not to panic. Don’t move the knife around uselessly – if you use it wrong, if you threaten without intent, if your hold isn’t firm, they’ll take it from you. Look at their body, at the spots you can reach. There’s always something you can do, that won’t require you to kill.”

 

Leo arranged his hand around the knife, moving it so his kid-like hold looked firmer, more assured, fingers wrapped securely around the shaft. “Stab from below. It’s easy to steal if you come from above.”

 

Neymar found he felt rather calm now. his heartbeat was trying to match Leo’s and his voice was a soft note that almost lulled him to sleep.

 

Leo moved his hand slightly up, right under his ribs, the tip of the knife pushed diagonally as if to reach under his ribs. “If you panic, if they’re too strong for you, don’t hesitate. Aim for the heart.”

 

Neymar’s heart skipped a beat.

 

It took him a while, staring at his hand, at the tip of the glinting blade against Leo’s shirt, at the way it dipped, at the way Leo’s chest moved evenly as he breathed in and out. It took him a while before he nodded, agreeing to Leo’s words.

 

Leo loosened his grip a bit and slid the knife up until it reached his cheek. “Sometimes it’s easier to aim for the head. It’s fine if you do, but if it doesn’t kill them it’s likely to hurt them bad. It’s ugly to see but stabbing an eye is rather effective as far as protection goes.” Leo smiled at Neymar’s grimace. He moved the knife down, against his Adam’s apple. “I did say it’s ugly, but if it’s all you can do… You might otherwise want to aim for the throat. Seems quick and effective right? But slitting a throat is useless. It’s bloody, it’s gross, and it takes an unnecessary long time for the person to die. You probably won’t want them to agonize will you?” Neymar shook his head vehemently, drawing a smile out of Leo. “I guessed as much.” He moved the knife to the right side of his neck and Neymar thought, Leo must trust him a lot, to let himself be this vulnerable. “Aim for the jugular,” he said. He held Neymar’s hand tighter, pressed the knife closer and Neymar couldn’t draw back, even when he saw the blade pierce the skin, a lone drop of blood surfacing. “It’ll only take a second,” Leo said. “A second, and you’ll be safe.”

 

Neymar watched that drop of blood as it ran down Leo’s neck, and felt scared and fascinated in equal amount. He wasn’t sure what was more important – Leo teaching him how to protect himself, or Leo showing him how much he trusted him.

 

When he leaned in to capture Leo’s lips, the knife fell on the bed without a sound.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar wasn’t sure what he’d woken up to. The apocalypse probably.

 

“What happened there?” He looked around the living room where couches had been thrown around and cushions had been blown up. There were holes in the wall, that looked like someone had tried to fight it, and had seemingly won.

 

“Have we- have we been attacked?” he asked anxiously. Things had been calm for a few days, nothing new coming from Juventus and Neymar may have been lulled into a sense of peace.

 

“Close,” a voice answered, and Neymar whirled around to face Marcos. His cast had been drawn on so much there was barely any white spot left. The colorful cast contrasted strongly with his face – Marcos was uncharacteristically pale today.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“You haven’t seen Leo yet?” Marcos asked tiredly. Neymar shook his head. “They took Kun.”

 

“What? Who?”

 

“The Italians. They took him.”

 

“That’s not-” Neymar had trouble processing this. What did it have to do with the state of the living room? How could he have been kidnapped? Were they sure he hadn’t wandered to a farm and found his true calling there?

 

“He had to meet a guy who works at the port. Turned out to be a trap. The Italians got him – he went alone not to draw attention, was outnumbered. They took him.”

 

Neymar blinked several times. Opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

 

Neymar had no particular fondness towards Agüero but- but it was someone, who Leo loved, who Marcos loved, who was there and Neymar didn’t really dislike the guy and the Italians-

 

_we’re going to be late_

 

Dani. Dani and that black guy. They’d done it.

 

Fuck.

 

“God.” No wonder Marcos looked dead, Agüero was his boyfriend, and he’d been taken to God know where for God know what. “Did you-” he gestured at the room vaguely.

 

“No,” Marcos said flatly. “I believe you boyfriend did this.”

 

“Leo,” Neymar gasped as understanding dawned upon him.

 

Marcos nodded.

 

“Where is he?” Leo might not be a man of many words, but Agüero was his _brother_. If the state of the living room was anything to go by, he hadn’t taken kindly to his brother being kidnapped.

 

“Mascherano’s office I guess.”

 

Neymar would have bolted out of the room had he not been caught up by Marcos’s tired face, and guilt overflowed inside him. What a horrible friend he was being.

 

“And you, are you-”

 

“Just go Ney,” Marcos said gently. “I’d like to be alone.”

 

Neymar nodded and when he exited the room he was careful not to look back, not to search in his eyes whether he was sincere or lying for his benefit.

 

What a horrible friend he was being.

 

When he reached Mascherano’s office, it was in about the same state as the living room had been.

 

Mascherano was sitting on the leather couch, a glass of scotch in his hand. He didn’t even look up to acknowledge his presence.

 

Neymar’s eyes darted to the other figure in the office – one small man who was pacing the room with quick, angry steps. There was dried blood on his knuckles.

 

“Leo,” he called.

 

Leo whipped around immediately, and quickly marched up to him. “Neymar.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Leo held his shoulders and anchored his eyes in his.

 

“Give me something,” he said. “ _Anything_.”

 

“What are you-”

 

“Dani.”

 

It took Neymar a few seconds to understand what Leo was asking.

 

_Not that again._

 

“I already told you I _can’t_.”

 

Leo’s eyes were wild and pained and angry. It wasn’t reason that guided this demand, it was love.

 

Would it be his fault if Agüero never came back?

 

“Anything,” Leo repeated, ordered, begged. “Just-” he hung his head and his hands gripped his shoulders tightly, wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. “ _Ney._ There’s only you.”

 

Neymar stood still. Saying no to Mascherano hadn’t been this hard, comparatively. There hadn’t been someone’s life at stake back then.

 

“Leo, Gerard, me and Kun.” Mascherano cut in. His eyes were riveted on the wall in front of him as he spoke. “Those are the four people that have information about the drug shipment, and apparently they found out. That’s what they want from Kun.”

 

 _Cruel_ , Neymar thought. Mascherano was being cruel, because Neymar may not have been the brightest in the room but even he knew what it meant, even he knew what you needed to do to make someone _talk_.

 

He closed his eyes.

 

And what if Agüero came back, but he wasn’t the same?

 

Neymar didn’t know what he was supposed to do anymore, who he was supposed to protect, whose sides he was supposed to take. He needed to give an answer, and someone’s life depended on his answer.

 

He’d have liked to think Dani would never do this, wouldn’t endorse something like that, but Dani had shot a guy in the head, Dani was in the mafia as much as Leo and Mascherano were.

 

Neymar needed to make a choice.

 

“Anything,” Leo repeated. “Anything, Ney.”

 

“I.” Neymar’s throat was dry. How could he give answers he didn’t have?

 

Leo closed his eyes, and Neymar wondered whether he was giving up – on the information, on Agüero, or on him. His eyes flashed open after a few seconds.

 

“His phone number,” he said.

 

“His number,” Neymar repeated dumbly.

 

“Just his phone number,” Leo confirmed. A plan seemed to be forming in his head. “Nothing more.” He studied Neymar and the confusion and reluctance on his face. “I’ll just talk to him,” he answered his silent question.

 

There was no harm in letting the two of them talk was there? He wouldn’t be selling Dani, and selfishly, he’d put the burden of his choice back into Leo’s hands. And whatever happened to Agüero, he’d be able to tell himself he had done something. Maybe he’d even be able to believe it.

 

He started nodding before he’d even taken an actual decision. “Alright,” he said. “Ok.”

 

Leo’s shoulders sagged. Neymar took his phone out and sent Dani’s number to Leo before he could think twice about it. He heard Leo’s phone vibrate in his pocket.

 

“Thanks,” Leo said, genuinely grateful. He leaned in and pecked Neymar’s lips, before walking out of the room, leaving him behind.

 

Neymar stood still, lips numb, the rhythm of his heart thumping in his skull.

 

“You did the right thing,” Mascherano said as he stood up slowly, making his way out of the room to follow his brother.

 

He clapped his shoulder as he exited the room, and Neymar was left wondering if what Mascherano considered the right thing could actually be considered right by any standards.

 

 

–

 

 

He was hugging his knees to his chest, staring into the eyes of his long-time friend.

 

“You’re doing what you can,” Rafa said, uncharacteristically kind. “You can’t shoulder everything. It’s out of your control.”

 

“But it is,” Neymar answered, voice cracking. “I can do something, or nothing, and whichever I chose _matters_.”

 

“It’s going to be alright.”

 

“You know that’s bullshit.”

 

Rafinha’s mouth twisted, unable to back up his own lie. “You said Leo called him right?”

 

“Yeah. He said this was personal, and that he would settle it directly with him.” Neymar licked his lips. “You think Dani would-” _kill someone?_ he didn’t say.

 

And Rafinha didn’t answer, because they both knew the answer was yes. Ironically, this wouldn’t bother Neymar too much if this someone wasn’t Agüero. If it wasn’t _Kun_ , Leo’s brother, Marcos’s boyfriend, someonewho he’d started thinking of as _Kun_ in his head,as though having a say in what happened to him had made him grown fonder of someone he’d rarely talked to.

 

“You did what you could,” Rafinha said. “It’s in Leo’s hands now. Take a break.”

 

Neymar bit his lips and nodded. “Sorry for waking you up _Princesa_ ,” he rasped. “I know you need your beauty sleep.”

 

Rafa huffed and let a playful smile play on his lips. “You’re just jealous because you look like utter shit.”

 

Neymar did. He hadn’t had proper sleep in weeks. Still, he grinned. “I’d rather look like shit than look like you.”

 

 

–

 

 

When he woke up, things were moving. Neymar stood in the middle of the hallway, watching suits go this way and that, people shouting orders and walking purposefully.

 

Something was happening.

 

He stood in the middle of the hallway for several minutes, eyes wide open as he took in everyone’s hurry, unsure whether he should ask or stay quiet, pretend he wasn’t part of this.

 

_(If Kun never came back, would this be his fault?)_

 

“Ney,” someone said behind his back, shaking him out of his stupor. Neymar focused on the voice and who it belonged to – Leo.

 

“What’s happening?”

 

“Kun,” was Leo’s only answer.

 

“You found him?” Neymar asked, hope tinting his voice.

 

“No, but we’re going to get him back.”

 

“Get him? How- When?”

 

“In about an hour. As for how, we made a deal with Alves.”

 

Dani. So maybe Neymar had been of use. Or maybe they were about to burst their lair and kill everyone there-

 

But Leo had promised he wouldn’t die, and that neither would Dani.

 

“I’d like you to come with us,” Leo said.

 

Neymar frowned. “Are you gonna exchange me for-”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Leo snorted. “We’ll be giving them intel, since it’s what they want. I’d just like you to watch.”

 

“Why?”

 

Leo considered his question for a few seconds. “I want you to see for yourself, that there is no right side to be on.”

 

Neymar wasn’t sure he wanted to see, but he nodded anyway. Maybe Leo was right, maybe he needed this. At any rate there were more important things than him, more important things like getting Kun back, finally getting to squash that guilt that was eating him inside so ardently that even his bile tasted rotten.

 

 

–

 

 

The place of the meeting was as gloomy as one would have expected. It looked like an abandoned port, where buildings were slowly falling onto themselves.

 

Neymar hardly though expensive black cars with tinted windows could pass as inconspicuous in this context, but he guessed gangsters valued style over keeping a low profile.

 

There were exactly three cars – two belonged to the _blaugranas_ , and one belonged to Juventus.

 

All things considered, there weren’t many people. He’d ridden with Pique and Leo, and Mascherano had been in another car with a bunch of guys he didn’t know.

 

He did know the two Italians that stood further away from them – one was Dani, and the other was the tall black guy he’d seen that other day. He scrunched up his nose, trying to remember his name.

 

“That’s Paul Pogba,” Pique supplied, leaning into his ear. “I believe you met him a few days ago.”

 

Dani was wearing a big smile on his face – the kind of smile Neymar knew not to trust.

 

“Look who’s there! The _blaugrana_ brothers and _hey_ , would you look at it, _my very own_ little brother!” From the tone in his voice, Neymar guessed he hadn’t been told he’d be there.

 

“Don’t bother with the niceties,” Mascherano said flatly. “We don’t want to talk with you any more than you do. Where is Sergio?”

 

Dani hummed, inspecting Mascherano and the convoy he’d come with. He leaned towards Pogba and whispered something to him, seemingly an order as Pogba immediately rounded the car to open the door.

 

Neymar waited with bated breath, dread and anxiety mixing up as he watched Pogba take someone out of the car. All he could see at first was the black plastic bag masking the guy’s head before Pogba rounded the truck of the car and took it off.

 

It could have been worse, he reasoned. Kun could have been missing a limb. He could have been disfigured to the point his face couldn’t be recognized anymore. He could also be dead.

 

But these weren’t quite enough to suppress Neymar’s whimper when he saw Kun’s whole body.

 

There were multiple cuts and bruises over his face, over his arms, over any patch of skin that could be seen, and Neymar guessed there were more where he couldn’t see. There was dried blood on his clothes, and even from the distance his hair looked greasy, slick with blood and sweat.

 

Yet what struck Neymar the most was his hands – battered and covered in blood, he couldn’t tell whether he was seeing ripped skin or raw flesh. What struck him the most was his nails – or lack thereof.

 

He looked away. Now wasn’t a good time to start throwing up.

 

Pogba escorted Kun to the middle ground and one of Mascherano’s guy met him halfway. Kun needed to lean onto someone to walk, too weak to stand properly on his legs.

 

Neymar averted his eyes from the pitiful scene and glanced at Leo at his sides – he hadn’t moved an inch. His stare was riveted on Kun,. He looked neither relieved, nor shocked, and Neymar wondered whether they had all been expecting this. Whether Kun had expected this, when he’d been taken in.

 

A hand grabbed his arm, cold against his feverish skin.

 

“Get it back together,” Pique hissed into his ear right as Neymar felt himself succumb, his empty stomach closing in on itself. “It’s over now.”

 

Neymar nodded, doing his best to keep his composure.

 

When Kun had been escorted closer to their cars than to that of Dani, Leo strode up to him, siding him and taking his weight on. He helped him walk the rest of the way to Mascherano, whispering things under his breath that Kun surreptitiously nodded to.

 

When they reached Mascherano, he took Kun’s head in his hand. Leo stayed by close as Mascherano talked in a soft tone, words he couldn’t quite comprehend but which, from afar, sounded like prayers.

 

Mascherano beckoned the unknown members of the _blaugranas_ over and he carefully handed Kun over to them.

 

“Be careful,” he ordered coldly, as they maneuvered him in the back of the car, following suit supposedly to examine his injuries.

 

“So,” Dani said cheerfully, drawing attention back to him. “What about my thing?”

 

Mascherano fished a flashdrive out of the inner pocket of his jacket and threw it carelessly at Dani, who caught it expertly.

 

“Here, it contains everything you asked for,” Mascherano said. “I always keep my promise.”

 

“Why, thanks,” Dani said, and a wide grin set across his face. “The boss is going to _love_ it.”

 

Leo made his way towards Neymar, hands shoved in the pocket of his trousers, a bored look on his face that did little to hide the annoyance underneath. “And while you’re at it, tell your boss we give back everything we’re given. He better watch his back from now on.”

 

Neymar didn’t miss the way Mascherano’s lips quirked upwards for a second. This sounded like a promise, and like Mascherano had just said-- he always kept his promise.

 

Dani seemed less bothered than Neymar by that discovery, an eery smile on his face. “I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

 

And this seemed to be it. Neymar was pretty sure now was the time to head back to the main place to treat Kun’s injuries and put this sordid affair behind them. He looked around, ready to go back to the car when Dani’s voice rung out.

 

“Neymar!” he shouted, and Neymar turned around to look at him questioningly. “My little bro… I’m sorry you had to see this. Why would even you come here?”

 

“I brought him,” Leo said.

 

“And why could that be?” Dani asked.

 

“So he could see for himself, what kind of man you could be.”

 

Dani was smiling but Neymar didn’t miss the way his fists clenched in anger.

 

“What kind of man I can be,” Dani repeated. “What about the kind of man that you _are_?”

 

Leo challenged him with a condescending look.

 

Dani went on. “You show him your brother, but what about my men, the one _you_ took, and all we found afterward was a body? Mario, Paolo, Luca-- Did you tell Neymar about them too?”

 

“This is a war,” Leo answered coolly. “And you’re no better than me.”

 

“I don’t claim I’m a good man,” Dani acknowledged. “I only say you are bad for _Neymar_. Ney-” He turned towards him, his eyes softening when they set upon him. “Is this how you want to live your life?”

 

“I-”

 

“This isn’t how it’s going to be,” Leo asserted. “I protect him.”

 

“And you bring him _there_?”

 

“So he knows you’re no better than us” Leo bit back.

 

“Than you, you mean? That’s what it’s about right? Having a little inferiority complex have you?”

 

Leo growled something, and took a step forward.

 

“I’m not-” Neymar tried, but no one was listening to him, and to be fair, Neymar had no idea what to say. Still, he was growing uncomfortable with the way he was being talked about.

 

“Leo,” Mascherano called, and this worked significantly better than Neymar’s attempt at talking. Leo looked back at his brother, and they seemed to share a wordless exchange.

 

“I got this,” Leo said, and Mascherano nodded, leaning back against the car and crossing his arms. He was giving Leo the leeway to argue, it seemed. Not exactly what Neymar had been hoping for.

 

Leo looked back towards Dani, his posture more relaxed and confident than seconds before. “I would kill you,” he stated plainly.

 

“And what’s stopping you?” Dani asked, amused, before Neymar had the time to protest. His eyes widened and, “ _Ooooh_ , I see! You’re sparing me out of consideration for Neymar? How touching! Then how convenient it would be if Neymar came to hate me wouldn’t it? You could just up and kill me!”

 

“This isn’t what’s happening here,” Leo answered, before Neymar had time to understand what Dani was suggesting.

 

“No, you know what’s happening there?” Dani mused. He took a few steps forward, rubbing his chin pensively. “You don’t like the way Neymar likes me. You don’t like the way Neymar likes me more than he wants to help you.”

 

Leo titled his head up, defiant.

 

“How upsetting, right? To have a boyfriend that isn’t willing to give everything up for you. Must be a right pain in the ass! What if, what if he ever chose me over you? What if ever chose someone else over you? What if he choose his own family over you? I mean clearly, he wasn’t 100% on your side here!” Dani mocked.

 

“I won’t let that happen.” Leo remained confident and collected, but something sinuous and dark was filling the notes of his voice.

 

“How? You’ll make sure he never has to chose? Or more likely,” Dani smirked, “you’ll never let him chose anyone over you?”

 

Leo moved so quickly Neymar had trouble processing the change – one minute he was standing a few feet away from him, the other he was holding Dani by the collar of his suit.

 

Neymar yelped. “Leo!”

 

But again, no one was listening.

 

“What? Hit a nerve?” Dani taunted.

 

“Stop provoking him Dani!” Neymar shouted but to no avail.

 

This was a conversation about him, happening around him. He’d have thought his voice would have mattered more, but neither Dani nor Leo listened to his pleas.

 

Leo’s voice was low, like a growl. “He’s mine.”

 

Dani’s grin widened.

 

“No he isn’t.”

 

Leo punched him.

 

Neymar shouted, _no!_ , his heart pounding like crazy, scared and anxious.

 

Dani tumbled back, tousled by the blow. He held his nose as blood started flowing.

 

“Damn I saw that one coming but it still hurts like a bitch,” he said. “But I guess it hurts less than your pride? I mean, what if I’m right and Neymar’s not yours?”

 

“Bullshit,” Leo said.

 

“ _What if_ ,” Dani went on. “What if he chose _me_? What if he goes back to Italy with me?”

 

Neymar glanced at Pique and Mascherano, trying to seek support in them but neither seemed ready to intervene, watching the scene unfold as mere spectators.

 

“I won’t let him go,” Leo stated flatly.

 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Dani pointed out, letting go of his nose and letting blood trail down to his mouth. “You don’t have a say in it. What if he _decides_ he wants to leave?”

 

Leo charged forward again, kicking Dani’s stomach and making him bend over and stumble down.

 

“What the hell Leo!” Neymar screamed. And once again, he was supremely ignored.

 

“He isn’t going anywhere.” Leo repeated dangerously.

 

Dani laughed from where he was sprawled on the ground.

 

“See that Ney?” He said, but he didn’t even look at Neymar when he said his name. He wasn’t any more willing to listen to him than Leo was. “That’s what I’m talking about. You’re not his boyfriend, you’re his _thing_.”

 

Leo grabbed Dani’s collar. “Will you fucking shut up?”

 

“Make me.”

 

Leo punched him again, sending Dani’s head hitting the ground. He stood over him, waiting for him to get back up.

 

Neymar couldn’t take any more of this. He took a step forward, ready to intervene and stop this madness, but a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

 

“Stay out of it,” Pique said. “This isn’t your business.”

 

“They’re talking about _me_ ,” Neymar hissed, bewildered and angry.

 

Dani got up while Leo waited for him, hands in his pocket in a show of superiority.

 

Dani laughed. “God I tried-- I told myself not to meddle, to let Neymar live his life but this--” he gestured wildly. “I can’t let a guy like you with my little brother. I just can’t.”

 

Neymar would have shouted, _it’s not up to you!_ but he didn’t even get the chance, because already Dani was charging forward, hitting Leo square in the jaw.

 

Neymar flinched, trying to run up to them again, but Pique pulled him back against his chest and held him firmly, keeping him trapped.

 

Leo didn’t look bothered by the hit, although his lower lip was clearly cut. He wiped it and gauged Dani’s fighting stance.

 

Dani grinned. “I’m going to beat you and I’m going to set Ney free.”

 

Leo punched him straight in the guts. Dani’s mouth opened wide, the breath cut out of him. He managed to recollect quickly this time, avoiding Leo’s next hit and aiming a punch that only managed to reach Leo’s biceps.

 

“Stop it you two, fucking-” He struggled in Pique’s arms, trying to escape his hold. “Let me go! Fucking let me go I said!”

 

He heard a crunch and he flinched, focusing back to the scene only to see Dani’s fingers bent an unnatural way. Dani barely let out a growl of pain before pulling his arm back and landing a punch on Leo’s chest.

 

Neymar trashed in Pique’s arms, feeling his eyes well up with tears.

 

“Stop it stop it stop it!” Leo sent a kick to Dani’s thigh that had him falling to his knee. “Stop it stop it _stop it_.”

 

Dani got back up in time to avoid Leo’s next kick, that would have been sure to smash his head against the concrete. He aimed a punch but he was visibly weakened. Neymar knew from first-hand experience how deadly a single attack from Leo could be, and already Dani had taken several blows.

 

“Stop it! Stop it!” He screamed desperately, terrified, frustrated and furious because no one was listening to him, not a single one of these idiots was listening to him. “Don’t I get a say in this? The both of you stop it or I’ll-” Pique’s hold on him tightened the more he tried to escape. “Let me go, please, let met go.”

 

“No can do Ney.” Pique said, looking down at him sympathetically. “You can close your eyes if you want.”

 

“Close my-” Neymar snapped his head back to the fight. “Stop it!” he screamed so hard he felt like he would throw up his guts.

 

This wasn’t even a fight anymore. Dani did nothing more than dodge now. Leo kept hitting his stomach and punching his already bloody nose.

 

Neymar wasn’t sure when he’d started crying, only that his mouth felt wet as he shouted at them to _stop stop stop please stop_.

 

“Stop struggling, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Pique admonished him. Neymar wanted to scream – how could he be the reason for this fight and not have a say in it? How could he be so fucking _useless_?

 

Dani fell heavily on the ground and Leo set a foot on his back to keep him down. Leo seemed to say something to him, although Neymar couldn’t hear over the sound of his own cries. He did see Dani’s body shake with painful laughter though.

 

This seemed to anger Leo, who stepped heavily on his back several times before kicking his stomach, Dani’s hands scratching the dirt as he took on every hits.

 

“Leo!” Neymar screeched when Dani threw up, and he didn’t miss the blood mixed with the bile and saliva. “Leo you promised me, you _promised_ -”

 

His vision became blurry but it wasn’t enough to hide the horrendous way Leo sat on Dani’s chest and started punching him repeatedly, making his face a mess of blood with no name on it.

 

“You promised, Leo!” Neymar screamed, sobbed, unable to believe this was going to happen, unable to believe his boyfriend was killing his brother right under his nose, and that there was nothing he could, that he couldn’t reason Leo from afar and Pique _wouldn’t fucking let him go._

 

_[If you panic, if they’re too strong for you, don’t hesitate. Aim for the heart.]_

 

Neymar froze. He sagged in Pique’s arms like his strings had been cut.

 

_[Slitting a throat is useless. It’s bloody, it’s gross.]_

 

The only reason he was sure he was still alive was for the sound of his own heart, beating a deadly rhythm inside his skulls, echoing loudly enough he thought his bones would break under the pressure.

 

_[Sometimes it’s easier to aim for the head.]_

 

There was something burning hot against his hips. Something sharp, something small but incredibly dangerous.

 

_[Aim for the jugular. It’ll only take a second]_

 

Pique’s arms loosened around him. He probably thought Neymar had given up. That the sound of Leo’s fist hitting Dani’s face again and again had broken his will.

 

_[If someone comes at you, or holds you, or if you see an opening, stab their palms.]_

 

Neymar waited, letting Pique relax around him before pushing everything he had in his leg and stomping heavily on his feet. Pique let out a surprised and pained moan and Neymar used everything he had to break free from his grasp.

 

_[If you aim for the legs and arms you’re sure not to kill them, and it should incapacitate them.]_

 

He took off, running madly.

 

_[But there are some people-]_

 

“ _Neymar!_ ”

 

_[Some people can take a few stabs.]_

 

Leo didn’t even seem to have heard him coming. Neymar slowed down, slipping a hand in his underwear to take out the silver lining Leo had given him.

 

_[Some situation, you might not have any choice.]_

 

Pique was chasing him; he had to be quick.

 

_[Look at their body. There’s always something you can do, that won’t require you to kill.]_

 

His vision narrowed on Leo’s white shirt, riled up over his back with the punches he was giving.

 

_[Not all stomach wounds are deadly.]_

 

He clutched the knife in his hand, silently kneeling down behind Leo, mesmerized by the white expanse of skin. He heard Pique’s footsteps coming closer.

 

_[There is no vital organs there. Only muscles]_

 

The knife went in right before Pique reached him.

 

The knife went in, and everything stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw man, you don't know how long I've been waiting to write Neymar stabbing Leo. Hope you enjoyed it !  
> See you soon ^^


	10. don't let him love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there ! As promised, here's me updating the last chapter as quickly as I could. That said, I'll answer comments tomorrow because I'm tired as it is.
> 
> Since this story is coming to an end, I'd like to take the time to thank every single one of you who's kudoed, commented and bookmarked this fic. Thanks for sticking with me all the way ^^ I know this story started out light-hearted and funny, and it ended up a whirlwind of angst, but if you've read my last multi-chaptered fic, this is the kind of dramatic ending I like.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy !

There were moments where time slowed down, where everything stopped and Neymar felt like he had control over everything that was going to happen. That had been his state of mind when he’d ran away from Pique and took the knife out, when he’d crouched down behind Leo and stabbed him.

 

He’d felt calm. He’d felt serene.

 

As the blood quickly spread in the fabric of Leo’s white shirt, reality quickly caught up to him.

 

Time wrapped back up to normal speed and Pique shouted, pushing past him, uncaringly throwing him away to turn Leo over, sit him on the ground and fret over him. Leo glanced at him quickly, frowning confusedly as his eyes fell on the knife Neymar had dropped – the silver, neat blade now dirtied by blood and dirt.

 

Neymar could do nothing more than watch numbly as everything moved around him, vibrant with life – vibrant with life but for Leo and Dani and himself. Neymar was torn between the confident part of his brain that assured him _you did the right thing_ , and that overwhelming terror that kept repeating _you’ve killed you’ve killed him you’ve killed him_.

 

He felt like he was watching a horror movie, and he couldn’t tell whether he was the hero or the monster.

 

He’d have probably stayed there, watching the person he loved die in front of him if Dani hadn’t coughed, effectively bringing him back to the situation at hands.

 

His head snapped towards the body of his friend and he crawled to him, trying to ignore everything else that was happening.

 

“Dani,” he choked. He could barely recognize his face. He thought his eyes might be open but he couldn’t be sure. “Dani,” he repeated. “What do I do? Dani, Dani-”

 

He had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do, gripping Dani’s clothes and crying over his face uselessly. That was it. He’d killed his lover and he would watch his brother die, and this would all have been for _naught_.

 

“Hey come on,” someone said – that wasn’t Pique’s voice. He looked up to see a black blur.

 

“Pogba,” he choked.

 

“Paul,” Pogba corrected, a quick smile before he crouched down. “Help me get him to the car, I’ll drive him to the hospital.”

 

“The-” _the hospital_. The hospital yes, the hospital.

 

Neymar nodded, wiping his tears and helping Pogba maneuver Dani up. Neymar flanked his right side and Pogba his left, effectively carrying Dani’s whole weight on his own.

 

They put Dani in the back of their car and Neymar sat besides him, putting Dani’s head in his lap while Pogba took the wheel.

 

Before they drove off, Neymar glanced at the scene one last time – Leo bleeding in Pique’s arms, Mascherano on the phone, watching their car go impassively.

 

Pogba didn’t ask for directions, and he didn’t make small talk. He left Neymar alone with Dani and his thoughts, repeating _it’s going to be ok_ like a prayer, more for himself than for Dani. He caressed Dani’s head, spreading blood in his hair.

 

He had no idea whose blood it was. He just knew it wasn’t his.

 

 

–

 

 

Something warm probed against his head.

 

Neymar looked up wearily, meeting Paul’s kind eyes.

 

“Thanks,” he rasped, accepting the offered drink. He took a gulp of the hot coffee. It tasted like paper and it was scorching hot but he drank it anyway, needing the caffeine to stay awake.

 

Paul slid down the wall to sit down next to him.

 

The walls of the hospital had been white when they’d come in, but Neymar had smeared blood over them since. He’d hardly moved from his spot for the last few hours, sitting determinedly in front of the door of Dani’s hospital room.

 

Some nurses had tried to get him to leave. They’d offered him a bed, offered him food, asked him to _at least_ change his clothes and let them wash the walls but Neymar wouldn’t budge.

 

The doctors said, several organs were touched. They said several bones were broken. They said it’d take months. They said it was a miracle. They also said he was alive. But Neymar wouldn’t believe any of it until he was allowed to see Dani.

 

“It was brave, what you did back then,” Paul said.

 

Neymar surveyed him skeptically.

 

“Not many dudes I know would have dared do something like that.”

 

“We don’t have the same definition of bravery,” Neymar grumbled. He laughed nervously. “I killed my boyfriend!”

 

“Stomach wounds-”

 

“I know.”

 

“If he’s-”

 

“I _know_. But I might have.” He closed his eyes. “Statistics. The only hope I have is fucking _statistics_.”

 

He gripped the cup of coffee in his hand, feeling some of the drink spill over and trickle down over his bloody hands.

 

Paul reached for his head and ruffled his hair gently.

 

“ _T’es un_ _type bien_ ,” he said.

 

Neymar didn’t understand but he thought it was better that way.

 

 

–

 

 

“Neymar!”

 

He came to his senses abruptly, surprised he’d even managed to fall asleep. For a second he was surprised by the white walls, the white doors, the white doors and the white everything before he remembered where he was.

 

There was someone running down the corridor towards him and Neymar turned to see Rafinha coming up to him.

 

Tears were streaming down his face and he was breathless, cheeks rosy and clothes rustled.

 

“Rafa. What are you doing there?”

 

“They called me,” Rafinha said, wiping his nose. He looked him over. “Are you-”

 

“Not mine,” Neymar answered. He didn’t need to ask to know Rafinha was referring to the blood that covered his skin and clothes.

 

Rafinha frowned but he didn’t ask.

 

“Dani?”

 

“He’s alive,” Paul supplied, coming up besides them. “We should be able to see him in a few hours. Hi I’m Paul by the way.”

 

Paul was fiddling with something, a small item in his hand. Neymar frowned. He recognized that flash drive, but he didn’t ask. He didn’t care for these things anymore.

 

Rafinha slid down the wall to sit next him. “Fuck,” he said, trying to regain control of his breathing. “ _Porra_.”

 

Neymar moved closer to him, pressing against his friend’s side, seeking the warmth and comfort it always procured him.

 

Paul sat on a chair and started typing on his phone, leaving the two of them alone in their small, white and red bubble.

 

“It’s my fault,” Neymar whispered.

 

“No.”

 

“It’s my fault,” Neymar insisted. “I think I killed Leo.”

 

Rafinha stared blankly at the white door in front of them.

 

“Ok,” he said. “Tell me.”

 

Neymar wasn’t sure how much Rafinha understood of his wet blabbering, but at least he listened.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar felt wrong, clad in new clean clothes, washed up from the blood. He didn’t like feeling dirty, but at least it had mirrored his state of mind. Rafinha hadn’t given him a choice, dragging him to a bathroom to the nurses’s relief. He’d taken care of him, undressing him and washing his body as though he’d been a child under his care.

 

When they made their way back to Dani’s room, Paul was waiting for them with a broad grin on his face.

 

“You’re going to like this,” he said. “He woke up.”

 

Neymar halted his steps.

 

“Docs said we can see him if we want,” Paul continued, smiling so wide it took over half of his face.

 

“Really?” Rafinha said hopefully. “Right now?” Paul nodded. He looked back at Neymar, eyes wet with relief. “Let’s go Ney.”

 

Rafinha lead him to Dani’s room, holding his hand all the way inside until they both were standing at the foot of the big white bed.

 

They didn’t move.

 

There was a beeping noise coming from a machine, and if series were to be believed this monitored Dani’s heartbeat. He was covered in bandages, casts seemingly on every of his members. He didn’t quite look like Dani.

 

“My boys,” Dani said, rasped, voice croaky like he was a long-time smoker with a terminal lungs cancer. He sounded awful.

 

This was also the best thing Neymar had heard in days.

 

“Oh Dani,” Rafinha said, throwing himself at Dani’s sides and holding one of his hand in his own. “You bastard,” he cried, resting his forehead against his hand.

 

Dani’s fingers moved, rubbing softly against Rafinha’s face. Neymar thought if he could have he’d have petted his head but Dani’s arms seemed paralyzed, still on the bed.

 

Dani’s eyes moved to Neymar’s face.

 

Dani’s face was—different. His face was swollen so much you could barely distinguish his kind green eyes, and his nose was flattened, broken, a protrusion amidst a see of brown blue and yellow skin. He didn’t quite look like himself.

 

“Come Ney,” he said.

 

Neymar walked up to him, taking one slow steps after the other, until he could grab Dani’s other hand and despair over how weak it now felt.

 

“You both look so pale,” Dani noted sadly.

 

“You could have died,” Neymar choked.

 

“ _Shhh_ ,” Dani soothed him. “I’m sorry.”

 

“You shouldn’t have fought with Leo,” Neymar continued, tears falling down his cheeks. “You shouldn’t have tried to- You shouldn’t have.”

 

“I know,” Dani croaked. “I know, I-” he started coughing and Neymar flinched back. It lasted several seconds, several painful seconds that sounded like Dani was about to cough his guts out.

 

Neymar wiped his tears and came closer, sitting on a nearby chair. Rafinha mirrored him. They both knew they’d be there for a long time.

 

 

–

 

 

It took several days for Dani to be able to talk properly, without sounding like he was going to die immediately after.

 

It hurt being by his sides when he was like that, but it hurt more not being there to watch over him. Selfishly, it also took Neymar’s mind off of Leo.

 

He’d turned off his phone and he refused to look at it. He didn’t dare contact any of the _blaugranas_ , didn’t even want to talk to Marc-André even though Rafinha had offered. He didn’t want to know, feared hearing the answer that haunted his night.

 

He was merely surprised no one had been sent to kill him yet.

 

When Dani’s eyes were a little less swollen and he was able to move his hands around, he took Neymar aside. Rafinha went to fetch sweets off the vending machine because Dani couldn’t stomach the sterile, tasteless food of the hospital anymore, and Neymar was waiting on his usual chair, reading a magazine about sport cars.

 

He realized he didn’t give a fuck about sport cars.

 

“Ney,” Dani called and Neymar immediately reacted, bringing his chair closer to his bed.

 

“What do you need?”

 

“I just want to talk to you,” he said to ease Neymar’s worry. “I’m sorry.”

 

Neymar kept quiet.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dani repeated, seeking his hand out. Neymar could spitefully keep it to himself, let Dani search for something that wasn’t there but this wouldn’t be fair. Neymar laid a hand on the sheets and let Dani grab onto it. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Neymar bit his lips. He couldn’t resent his friend, not when he was there, not when he looked like that, but now that he was certain he wasn’t going to die, now he knew he’d be fine with time, he couldn’t not remember what had happened, the way Dani had acted, the way he’d ignored his pleas.

 

“I was as stupid as him in the end. I shouldn’t have meddled.”

 

“I can do what I want,” Neymar murmured. “I’m a free man.”

 

“I know,” he repeated. “I thought I was thinking about you but I acted selfishly and because of me you had to-”

 

“Don’t.” Neymar cut him. He knew what he’d done. He didn’t need the reminder.

 

Dani rubbed his thumb over his knuckles, gentle and comforting.

 

“You have blood on your hands,” he rasped. “That’s the last thing I wanted.”

 

Neymar looked at the white wall, absentmindedly listening to the regular beeping noise of the heart machine. He felt tired. He crossed his arms on the bed and laid his head down on Dani’s bed.

 

“It’s fine,” he mumbled.

 

It wasn’t fine. But it would be.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar didn’t dare go to Uranus.

 

For one, he wasn’t sure he could. He wasn’t sure he could face them after what he’d done, after what had happened. He was afraid Leo would be there too. Worst, he was afraid he wouldn’t.

 

He was scared of being told the truth – _you’ve killed him, you’re a murderer_.

 

He did his best not to think about it, pretending the only casualty had been Dani and that there wasn’t blood on his hands. He pretended not to feel the missing weight of a knife against his thigh. He pretended to have lost his phone, when he knew he’d just turned it off and hid it away in a drawer. He pretended not to care about anything besides Dani’s health, but he woke up every night in tears, dreaming of Leo, of his accusing eyes, of his grave and of Kun crying, hands bandaged and nails missing, sobbing _why did you do it_.

 

Why had he done it? He couldn’t even remember.

 

He focused his energy on Dani, forgot college, forgot Uranus, forgot Marcos and Kun and Leo and the _bl_ _au_ _granas_. He was so sure Mascherano would have had him killed within a few days, he didn’t know what to think of the disappointment he felt every morning when he woke up and things were still the same.

 

 

–

 

 

He didn’t know what finally decided him to go to Uranus. He hadn’t stepped foot in the brothel in a month, what with the lock down and the subsequent hiding from everyone he knew.

 

The place still had that flashy, over the top, _It’s always sunny in Uranus_ sign blinking on the facade, because discretion meant nothing when you ruled the city.

 

He took a deep breath, his guts twisting with uneasiness as he pushed the door open.

 

He looked around, observing the place – everything was just as it was before. Pocho was serving drinks at the bar, making lecherous faces at the customers. Karina was dragging a man up the stairs, holding his hand. Marcos was leaning against a wall, typing on his phone. There were customers, sitting in leather couches, clad in suits, laughing and holding girls and boys by the waist.

 

Things were exactly how he’d left them, except he wasn’t there anymore.

 

It took a few seconds for people to notice him, but when they did, their reaction was as loud as a bomb going off into his ears – silence fell heavily on the room.

 

He looked around, trying to find answers in their blank stares. He found Marcos’s eyes.

 

“Marcos,” he breathed out hopefully.

 

“What are you doing there?” Marcos asked, making his way towards him.

 

“I. I work here, no?”

 

“Not anymore.”

 

Neymar frowned. “What?”

 

“Not anymore,” Marcos repeated.

 

“But I-- my debt-”

 

“Has been paid off,” Marcos said flatly.

 

Neymar’s heart skipped a beat, before going for a deadly waltz. He hadn’t know what he’d been expecting but this hadn’t been it.

 

Marcos crossed his arm, looking annoyed.

 

“Are you gonna stay here long?” When Neymar didn’t answer he added, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re not welcome there anymore.”

 

Neymar took a step back. He looked around the room, taking another step back, then another, until his back hit the door and he scrambled to open it and run away as fast as possible.

 

He ran a few block before he stopped, panting heavily, body shaking.

 

“Fuck-”

 

“Neymar!” a voice shouted behind him.

 

He recognized the voice – it was Marcos. He hesitated, turning around with apprehension.

 

“Damn,” Marcos said when he reached him. “I thought I wouldn’t catch you.”

 

“I can go if you-”

 

“No,” Marcos shook his head. “No look- come here.”

 

Marcos wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly like a friend would. Neymar stood still,too shocked to move away or reciprocate.

 

Marcos drew back to look at his face. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’ve just been fired, I think.”

 

Marcos gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. We didn’t mean to scare you but-- technically you’ve stabbed the genius, so we can’t really be welcoming right? There are some important guests here, if we appear nice to you, it might look back for the family. _Mind_ , if you _hadn’t_ turned off your phone, I would have told you all that before you came in here.”

 

“So,” Neymar ignored the spoken reproach in the last sentence, hope tinting his voice. “You don’t hate me?”

 

“Nah,” Marcos shook his head, smiling. “Well Kun hates you, but that’s nothing new. Mostly everyone is confused, but _I_ know what happened.”

 

“Thank fuck,” he breathed out with relief.

 

Marcos let out a soft laugh. “Come on, I couldn’t hate you man, you’re like a harmless fawn.”

 

“A fawn,” Neymar frowned. “You know you’re dating a cow right?”

 

Marcos’s head fell back and he laughed openly, and Neymar felt his lips stretch, morphing into an honest smile at last.

 

“You’re not helping your case! Kun was mad when he heard what you did.”

 

“How is he?” Neymar blurted out before he could think twice. “Kun, how-”

 

Marcos’s smile faltered. “He’s ok,” he said. “He just,” he licked his lips. “He doesn’t have nails anymore but.” He shrugged.

 

“And-”

 

“He’s fine too,” Marcos answered. “He’s alive.”

 

Neymar sagged in relief, leaning his whole weight against Marcos’s torso to keep himself steady. He felt light, faint, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. His body started shaking despite himself and his throat clogged up with tears.

 

“God,” he said. “ _God_.”

 

He hadn’t killed him. Leo was alive, _he was alive_.

 

“Hey there,” Marcos said, taking him into his arms. “He was never going to die. No vital organs were touched, it’s almost scary how nonthreatening that stab was, really,” he said and Neymar let out a happy giggle.

 

He stayed like that for several minutes, held in Marcos’s arms and smearing snort over his nice shirt.

 

When his legs felt steady again, he finally pulled back, offering Marcos a grateful smile.

 

“Thanks,” he sniffled.

 

“Don’t fret over it. And turn your phone back on will you? We might not work together anymore but I still have lots of gossips to share you know.”

 

Neymar smiled widened. “Will do.” He was about to turn and leave when he realized something. “Wait, does that mean I’m really fired?”

 

“Not fired _per se_. It’s like I said, your debt has been paid off.”

 

“Paid off,” Neymar repeated dumbly. “By who?”

 

“You know who.”

 

And while he did not want to believe it, Neymar did have an idea who could have paid off his debt for him. And he wasn’t too happy about it.

 

 

–

 

 

Leo’s hospital looked like nothing from afar. Some old, beat up building, a decaying private hospital that Neymar would never dare go to.

 

Paul parked a bit further away, having gracefully accepted to drive him around, and wait in the car like a real _chauffeur_.

 

Neymar checked the address he’d gotten from Marcos, doubtful that this was the place wealthy gangsters would go to. Then again, they probably couldn’t waltz into a hospital after a shooting, he reasoned.

 

The inside of the building was actually nicer than the outside. While it was nothing luxurious, it at least looked decent.

 

No one was there, except for a man behind a reception desk, who was immersed into a gossip magazine.

 

“Uh,” Neymar said, clearing his throat. “Hello?” The man didn’t look up from the magazine he was reading. “I’m here to see L- Messi.”

 

The employee finally looked up at him, observing him quizzically from above his glasses. “And you are?”

 

Neymar considered lying but his mouth spoke faster than his brain.

 

“Neymar.”

 

The man considered him for several seconds, unblinking, before he nodded and promptly went back to his magazine.

 

“Room 23,” he offered offhandedly.

 

As he walked away, Neymar was pretty sure he heard the sound of a number being dialed behind his back.

 

 

–

 

 

There was a flat screen in Leo’s room.

 

There was a flat screen, and black leather chairs for guests to sit in. They looked way comfier than the one he had to do with at the hospital. The room was otherwise empty – there were no flowers or chocolate boxes on the table. The only thing that stood out was the silver knife of the bedside table.

 

He didn’t announce himself, because he was sure Leo already knew he was there. He had no doubt words went around faster than he could climb the stairs.

 

He didn’t say anything at first, merely watching, taking in the sight before him – Leo, half-naked, looking out of the window, his back to him. He gazed over the white expanse of his back, the black strands of hair that fell over his nape, the bright ink on his arm, the muscles that rippled under his skin with each new intake of breath.

 

He was breathing.

 

There was a bandage patch on his back too, low, right above his pants, but Neymar did his best not to look at it.

 

Neymar had no idea the mere sight of Leo breathing would affect him this much, but he found his throat dry and his eyes wet as he counted the breaths Leo took, serene and calm and alive. Calmer than Neymar felt, his brain a storm of love, relief and anger. He wanted to walk to him, wanted to touch Leo’s skin, to marvel at the veins at the muscles at the bones, to press kisses over every parts of his body he could reach. He wanted to hold him in his arms and never let go.

 

He also wanted to shout at him and punch him in the face.

 

“Leo.” His voice was small but the room was silent and his voice echoed as loud as an explosion.

 

Leo kept breathing.

 

“I never meant to hurt you,” he croaked, voice wavering despite himself. “I never wanted to do this.”

 

Leo didn’t turn around, his eyes fixated on the window and the world outside. Neymar had no doubt he was listening to him.

 

“But you’d promised me. You’d promised me Leo.” There was a lump in his throat that made his voice scratchier than usual. His hands closed into fists at his sides. His heart beat a hellish pace and still Leo’s back heaved with the calmness of a quiet sea.

 

“You’d promised me,” he said one last time, barely above a whisper. He looked around, at the flat screen, at the leather chair and at the knife on the bedside table. Leo had put it there, next to his best. It was probably be the last thing he saw before he fell asleep.

 

“Did you know I lost my job at Uranus?” Neymar said, his light tone doing poorly to hide his bitterness. “Because some dude paid off my debt. You know who don’t you?”

 

Leo didn’t give any indication he would answer his question. Neymar dug his nails into his palm, growing restless with Leo’s passiveness.

 

“Since you paid off my debt, I guess that means you own me now don’t you?” he provoked, bitter and petty.

 

Leo tensed, the usual slack in his shoulders giving way to an uncharacteristic stiffness.

 

“No,” he answered urgently.

 

“No?”

 

Leo didn’t offer anything more than a simple no.

 

“No? Leo. Look at me.”

 

Leo didn’t move.

 

“Look at me Leo!” he repeated, his shout filling the white room with his anger and his anguish.

 

Leo obeyed reluctantly, turning around so he was facing him.

 

His eyes were both quieter and louder than he had expected

 

“I wanted to set you free,” Leo conceded, voice soft, but in the depth of his black eyes Neymar saw an uncanny despair.

 

“Set me free,” he repeated. “I don’t need to be set free. Shit, is it so hard to believe that I make my own choices?!”

 

Leo looked at him helplessly. Neymar had thought he’d find answers here but Leo had nothing to say. He seemed not to be done thinking things through himself.

 

“I didn’t need you to pay my debt,” Neymar went on, feeling his throat clog up and his voice crack. “You could have just apologized.”

 

Leo kept quiet, asking for forgiveness with his eyes. But this wasn’t how it worked. Neymar wouldn’t let it.

 

“Can’t you just apologize? I don’t need much Leo, it’s just a word.”

 

And still this helpless stare. Neymar waited, seconds, minutes, staring into Leo’s eyes but meeting nothing but resistance and quiet pleas. There was sadness in there, but there was more than that and he didn’t get it all.

 

“No?” he tried one last time, but to no avail. “Alright then.”

 

He wiped his cheeks off the lone tears that had fallen off and made to leave when Leo’s voice stopped him.

 

“I love you.”

 

Neymar stilled. It was hard not to look back, not to trust and give in.

 

“That’s not what I asked,” he rasped, forcing the words out, past the lump in his throat.

 

Before he left the room and closed the door on the last few months of his life, he heard it, unmistakable, coming from Leo’s mouth:

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

But it was too late, and Neymar had to make his own choices.

 

He kept walking.

 

 

–

 

 

Life went back to normal.

 

Normal being what it had been before he’d met Leo. Before he’d worked at Uranus.

 

Normal, except Dani’s face was still swollen and he still couldn’t walk. Normal except he visited him at the hospital everyday. Normal except Rafinha’s boyfriend made him remember places he wasn’t allowed in anymore.

 

Normal except Neymar was _bored._ He went to classes everyday and there was an itch under his skin. He’d never been too fond of studies but he needed to get out, now more than ever.

 

Normal except Neymar kept dreaming of blood, money and drugs, of pale skin and tender hugs and heartbreaking good byes. His brain and body refused to let go of Leo and he was left longing for something he shouldn’t have.

 

_**Gdi man I take back what I said I hate u** _

 

Neymar smiled as he read Marcos’ text. His continued friendship with Marcos was one of the only thing he’d gotten to keep from the past months of his life – otherwise wiped away like they’d never existed.

 

 _Interviews again?_ He texted back

 

**course its interviews!**

**Last guy tried to steal money.**

**Idk he seemed to think jefe was a softy**

 

Neymar laughed and sent back grinning emojis.

 

_Thats not my fault though_

 

**it deffo is**

**if u hadnt fuckd away I wouldnt have to be there**

 

He bit his lips. Marcos did hate conducting interviews for the job Neymar had left vacant, but it was pointless feeling guilty was it? It’s not like he had had a choice in that.

 

That was why he’d walked away, he told himself every time he doubted. To have a choice.

 

 

–

 

 

Dani didn’t got back to Italy until he was able to wheel himself on his own. He said his boss had made sure only the best doctors would wait for him in Turin, to make sure he went back in shape under no time.

 

Neymar may have cried at the airport, but so did Rafinha.

 

 

–

 

 

One day Marcos sent,

 

**Kun’s nails are starting to grow back**

 

Things were finally righting themselves.

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar’s parents kept insisting, hinting at what he could do after his bachelor degree. The thing was, Neymar hadn’t really wanted to go to college in the first place. He’d gone because like every one his age, he hadn’t known what he wanted to do after high school, but he knew his parents would be ecstatic if he was able to get a real actual degree.

 

He couldn’t wait until June, for university to be done, so he could finally work and quit locking himself in packed classrooms. He’d let Rafinha go down the smart path. As for himself, he was already looking for a job, for after.

 

Marcos had actually sent him a few job offers, but the companies either looked shady or were plain sex shops. Marc-André had tried to help too, although Neymar had no intention on becoming a bodyguard. Not that he _couldn’t_. But it wasn’t his thing.

 

 

–

 

 

Marcos liked to keep him updated about what happened with the _blaugranas_ – about Uranus and its workers, about Kun, and most of all about Leo.

 

**Help I think messi might be suicidal**

**he died his hair blond**

**I think hes letting his beard grow**

 

Neymar never answered those messages, but Marcos kept sending them in.

 

 

–

 

 

**yep definitely letting it grow**

**its ginger man never saw stg that ugly**

 

Neymar resisted the urge to protest. He had no business feeling insulted on Leo’s behalf, had he?

 

 

–

 

 

Sometimes he sent,

 

**Piques going to be a father**

**not sure how long the bb will live**

 

_do u want a bb 2?_

_do u think Kun can lactate?_

_Try milking his nips_

 

**keep it up nd ill tell him where u live**

**hell kill u in ur sleep**

 

 

 

–

 

 

His graduation ceremony was as amazing as he’d dreamed it. His dad actually cried, and both his parents hugged him tight and took pictures left and right. They told him they were proud of him and he could read it in their eyes. He cried too.

 

He also got to see his sister, after so many months. She was beautiful, hair died blonde and dolled up like a lady. She looked confident and beautiful, and Neymar thought, no matter what had happened, he couldn’t regret anything. _This_ was what he’d indebted himself for. This had been worth it.

 

“Congrats _Princesa_ ,” Neymar said, eyes crunching up with mirth as he slung an arm around Rafinha’s shoulders. They smiled broadly as their families took pictures of them.

 

“Yeah same to you. Can’t believe an idiot like you got a degree.”

 

“Can’t believe _you_ got a degree. I for sure thought you’d live off a sugar daddy,” Neymar shot back.

 

Rafinha laughed. “Who says I am not!” and Neymar laughed along.

 

 

–

 

 

**Pocho has 2 bf**

**I think hes 2timing**

 

_ofc he would that whore_

 

**he says hes ok w 3 if u want in**

 

 

–

 

 

**update : not 2timing**

**theyre having a 3some in bathroom rn**

**I need 2 pee**

**what do I do**

 

  

 

 

–

 

 

“Looking for a job is such a drag,” Neymar sighed, taking a big gulp of his beer.

 

“Chill man we’ve finished uni one week ago,” Rafinha answered none too gently. “Didn’t the hotel hire you anyway? They gave you an interview and all.”

 

“About that-- I totally fucked it up. Dude started making awful jokes about girls, I told him he had a small dick. Totally screwed it up.”

 

Rafa laughed. “As expected of your two brain cells!”

 

“Shut up, they did their best alright?” Neymar shot back, smiling.

 

Rafinha shook his head sadly. “Guess it was your last chance. You’re gonna end up on the streets, selling your body.”

 

“You interested?” Neymar waggled his eyebrow, unable to hide his smile as he wrapped himself around his laughing friend.

 

“I’ll tell you what though!” Rafinha went on, two or three drinks later. “You’ll never get hired with the resume you have. Your picture looks awful.”

 

“What? It’s my best angle.”

 

“It looks like a tinder picture!” Rafinha frowned. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you used this picture on tinder once.”

 

“You shut up,” Neymar protested, trying to hit him but missing his head by a large margin. “Next interview I go I’m going to get hired, with that very resume. Just you watch.”

 

 

–

 

 

Neymar takes a deep breath in, rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans.

 

It’s not that he’s desperate but it’d be nice if he could find a job.

 

He’s supposed to be next and up until now, none of the previous candidates had seemed really… positive about their interviews.

 

His phone vibrates in his pockets and he knows it’s Marcos again.

 

**This one is so bad**

**hes shaking its hilarious**

 

Neymar smiles. Marcos is in the middle of interviews to replace the last failure of a bartender, and as always he is complaining to Neymar about it instead of paying attention. He can’t imagine how the poor guy must be feeling, faced with a man who’s barely looking at him.

 

Then again, Mascherano is reason enough to be scared.

 

 _Dont laugh Masche is scary_ , he sends back

 

**he shouldnt have applied then**

 

Neymar looks up when a secretary comes towards him.

 

“Do you want something to drink?” the man asks.

 

Neymar shakes his head and smiles. “No thank you.”

 

The man looks disapprovingly at his hair before turning away, and Neymar nervously reaches up to blindly arrange it so it looks nice. He bet with Rafinha they’d both dye their hair blonde if they graduated, but it doesn’t look _that_ bad.

 

His phone vibrates again.

 

**Or maybe its messi hes scared of**

**his roots are showing honestly im personnally offended**

 

Neymar bites the inside of his mouth not to smile.

 

He’s starting to type an answer when the door opens and the last candidate comes out. He looks sick, like he’s just been chewed on.

 

Neymar quickly stands up, dusting off imaginary dirt off his jeans and pocketing his phone back in his jeans. He walks decidedly into the room, resume tucked neatly under his arm.

 

The employer’s table is made up of three men and none of them are looking at him. Neymar feels a bit ridiculous now, with his blonde hair and his red bow-tie.

 

He clears his throat to catch their attention.

 

They look bored as they look up, but once he’s sure he had their undivided attention, Neymar smiles enthusiastically.

 

“Good morning!” he exclaims, and marvels quietly at the way their eyes widen with shock.

 

He glances over the three men quickly, but there’s only one of them he focuses on in the end. He disregards the bald man and the dude with the spiked hair and singles out the man sitting at the left of the table.

 

He’s blonde alright, but his roots are showing. He has a scruffy, ginger beard despite his obviously dark roots. His white pearly skin contrasts with the darkness of his eyes. He blinks at Neymar several times – he looks like he’s hallucinating.

 

Neymar smiles broadly at him.

 

“I’m Neymar Da Silva Santos, Junior, and I’m applying for the job of bartender.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it goes.  
> For anyone who needs to be reassured : yes, he's interviewing for the job at Uranus, and he totally gets hired. He's choosing this for himself in the end. And yes, that also means he's trying to get back together with Leo - for the record, eye witnesses assure they saw Messi cry that day, but until his very last day he'll always insist this is fake news.
> 
> Ah also, Pogba's words "t'es un type bien", means you're a good guy.
> 
> Anyway, thanks again, I'll see you around !


End file.
